Brand New World
by NinaBinaBallerina
Summary: Draco Malfoy had the perfect plan: use Polyjuice to turn into the Weasel, infiltrate Gryffindor tower, and steal the memories implicating his father. But the Golden Girl had to ruin everything by kissing him. Now Draco's developed a strange addiction for bushy-haired know-it-all mudbloods, and nothing but the best will do.
1. Stolen Kiss

**Before We Begin:** Draco is (as J.K. Rowling wrote him) manipulative, ambitious, vicious, arrogant, and a bit of a coward. Don't expect too much deviation from his natural character. Draco is a bad boy, and he'll stay that way.

**WARNING: This story will feature Dub-Con (Dubious consent) in a few chapters, including this first one. It will feature many triggers throughout, including sexual coercion, character death, and torture. I will try and always put a warning up top before the chapters that need it. This story will be a little tamer than my Hunger Games fic, but it still needs multiple warnings. **

**Song Suggestion: **Chase Holfelder- "Kiss the Girl" (Little Mermaid cover) (Minor key version)

**Stolen Kiss**

**Draco **

Draco watched as Ron Weasley plucked a chocolate from the box and placed it in his mouth. He always assumed the ginger was on the lower end of the intelligence scale, but the enormity of his stupidity still astounded him. It boggled his mind how he survived a year on the run from the Dark Lord.

But Draco did know, when he thought about it. And she was his problem: Hermione Granger, swot extraordinaire. His emotions for her varied over his life, from disgust to apathy to annoyance to lust to hatred. But until recently, he never had to consider her a threat. She forced him into this corner.

He watched as Weasley chewed the chocolate, open-mouthed, so he could see the brown candy squishing up and down between his teeth. Draco sneered at the uncultured display.

_Three. Two. One._ Draco thought. And right on time, Ron gave a big yawn, stretched his arms above his head, leaned down, and fell asleep, nose first in the chocolate box.

"Orange buffoon," Draco sneered, walked from behind a statue, and pushed his shoulder with a dragon-hide boot to make sure he was asleep. "Only a wanker like you would eat an unmarked box of sweets."

The boy gave a loud snore in reply.

It was the third time this week Weasley fell asleep in random parts of the castle. The first two times because he was sloshed. The third because of quidditch. It wasn't out of the ordinary, so it fit nicely into Draco's plan to send him a box of chocolates from Anonymous, laced with a sleeping potion: a rare, expensive version that left no trace to be found. He'd been initially tempted to use one of the wonder twins' creations for the sheer irony but decided against it. Hermione Granger would not be an easy one to fool, and he had to ensure nothing could be traced back to him.

Draco had waited patiently for the idiot to eat it, wondering if he'd take the sage advice of Granger who urged him to throw it in the rubbish bin: "Honestly Ron, don't you remember the love potion from Romilda?"

But the Weasel had never been known for his intelligence, and Draco knew he would sneak off to a secluded part of the castle first thing and devour it. Since the final battle, Weasley had been known to drink and eat in excess, participating in risky behavior. Draco counted on his lack of common sense and self-control.

As usual, Draco's instincts paid off. Draco followed and watched from the shadows until Weasley ripped the box open and shoved the treats in his mouth.

When sure of his lack of consciousness, Draco looked from side to side, making sure no one saw him and bent down and plucked a single red hair from his head, harder than he should have.

Then he tugged Weasley's body into a dark corner so he wouldn't be found, and as a last measure, kicked him squarely in the side, enjoying the feel of his boots digging into ribs before setting back off down the hallway. His cloak swept behind him until he found an abandoned classroom. Once there, he pulled a silver flask from the pocket of his cloak. It gleamed under the light, winking at him as he uncapped it and dropped the single piece of red hair into its depths.

"I guess I'm about to discover what it's like to be hideous." He watched as the liquid turned a muddy color before plugging his nose and taking a swig, grimacing as he choked it down.

**Draco**

Draco stood by the Gryffindor common room until a couple of second years muttered the password to the portrait of the fat lady. The picture frame creaked as it opened, allowing both the second years and Draco through. He brushed aside a few strands of red hair and grimaced at the sight of his speckled hands.

Draco held back a breath, waiting to be discovered as a fraud, but it wasn't necessary. He resembled the equivalent of a Gryffindor God to the younger students. He looked as if he belonged among the gold and red draping and comfy couches, as if he owned it, even though on the inside it gave him the feeling of ants crawling under his skin.

"Hey, mate," a voice called out. Draco snapped his eyes up to find Dean Thomas rising from the couch. "We still on for the match tonight with the Hufflepuffs?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. Match? It took a moment to comprehend, until he realized the bloody light-side, moral-loving Gryffindors were fucking cheating. They were holding illegal scrimmages. There was no other way to interpret it.

"Sure," Draco ground out.

It exhausted him trying to be the Weasel: the loud voice, the obnoxious smile, the perpetual dumb expression. No matter how hard he tried, he still made mistakes. Dean tilted his head to the side in confusion.

"Did I somehow upset you or something? I'm sorry— "

"No," Draco cut him off quick, not wanting to get in touch with his sensitive sid. "I'm just having a bad day."

To Draco's horror, Dean's eyes widened into an unmistakable expression of pity. _Oh, fuck me._ Draco could see where this was going.

"I understand. We all miss him." He reached out and patted his shoulder. "A brave bloke, undeserving of what happened to him. It's not even been a half year. It's perfectly understandable you are still in grief. Not to mention, well—your other tragedies." Dean grimaced at the last word.

"Right," Draco nodded, shifting from foot to foot. "Well, I'd like to be by myself, if that's alright."

Dean nodded and released his shoulder.

"Just remember that I'm here for you. Seamus too."

Draco gave a nod, withholding a gag at the level of emotions Gryffindor's spewed at each other, and turned and began walking towards the dorms, but after a few steps Dean spoke again.

"Oh, before I forget, Hermione was looking for you. Said it was important."

Great. Just fucking great.

"Where is she now?"

"I think she's with the Headmistress. Said she'd be back in ten minutes."

He planned on twenty minutes with the sleeping potion he gave the red idiot, but now that cut the time in half. Draco began to sweat under the hand-me-down-look-alike robes he had transfigured.

"Alright," Draco agreed. He walked away and towards the rooms, stopping at the girls' entrance. He muttered the spell, so he could enter without the stairs ousting him, grateful Marcus Flint taught him it and not for the first time.

Granger's rooms were easy to find. He did his homework ahead of time, flying around the castle at night, checking each window. He found her sleeping on the right side at the top of the tower last night, overlooking the Hogwarts' lake. From this he also learned she slept alone, as the only Gryffindor female student to return to their eight year, since their seventh consisted of a war.

Because of this, it only took moments before finding the door he needed. From there, he used an extra four minutes to pick the wards around her door, dismantling a few of them that would alert her if someone not wanted tried to enter. The flaw in her plan: Polyjuice potion. The wards sensed Ron. It was easy enough to tweak so it accepted Draco Malfoy as well, just in case it tried to backfire upon exiting.

In the end, it left him six minutes to find the memories incriminating his father and leave Gryffindor tower for good.

Draco walked in the room, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.

**Hermione**

Hermione was delirious. Not happy—she hadn't been happy for some time now. It was a complicated joy stained with the slime of grief.

She held a head girl badge in one shaking hand. It took over two months of convincing, and some pressure from higher ups, but she achieved her lifelong ambition: head girl. The title would be shared with a seventh year Ravenclaw named Clara, dulling some of the excitement. It was hollower than she thought it would be, but she let herself bask in a measured relief.

"I did it, Harry," she said after exiting the headmistress's office.

It fell flat because the boy in question didn't hear it and would never hear it. She spent months hoping for a portrait or a ghost, anything to talk to, but neither materialized. He was gone, dust, and wasn't ever coming back. The wizarding world felt empty and wrong without him.

Hermione shook her head, berating herself. She had just achieved something the war almost stole from her, and she refused to let her thoughts ruin it.

She needed to find Ron.

_The lug better not be drunk again._

**Draco**

After meticulously combing through every section of her room, he finally found it in her extendable purse hanging on the back of her chair. Granger had been clever in its creation, but not in its use. She was constantly taking things in and out in full view of everyone, otherwise Draco might have overlooked it in his quest. It hung small and unassuming, and upon picking it up, he smirked when he realized the purse contained the same wards as her door.

He scoffed at the Golden Girl's innocence after all she had been through. So trusting. So naive. So _Gryffindor._

He made the wand work quick, half as fast as the last time. The top unsnapped by itself. He rummaged a bit inside, but not for long, because it nearly jumped into his fingertips as if it always belonged to him.

The top of the folder was stamped confidential with the Ministry seal.

Thankfully, memories could only make one copy, or Draco would have no options. The ministry refused to store the important memory until several weeks before the trial because they were waiting on the last screen to be declared clean and untampered with before submitting it as evidence. This gross inefficiency would be to Granger's detriment and Draco's boon.

Draco opened the tabbed folder to find a small vial that glimmered like silver in the filtered sunlight.

"So much trouble for something so little." He pointed his wand at the fireplace. "Incendio."

The flames leaped high within seconds. Draco reached out his hand, hovering the vial over the flames. It stayed there as he thought, and as he contemplated, he again retracted his hand, deciding against destruction, tucking it into his school bag, which had much stronger wards than Granger used. Next, he placed the folder back in the purse, snapped it up, and rehung it in the exact same spot, extinguishing the fire as an afterthought.

He would never use the memories, but it never hurt to have blackmail, especially since his father had been after him to marry Astoria, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to. At least, not on his father's terms.

_Two minutes left_, he thought in triumph, ready to leave.

But his triumph was short lived, because the door creaked open sooner than expected revealing a beaming Hermione Granger. Her hair looked electrocuted, billowing around her head in a fluffy halo of riotous curls. She had never looked so much like Granger, in a muggle shirt and jeans, wearing sensible trainers.

"Ron…" She looked startled. "How did you get in… oh, it doesn't matter. I did it!"

She held out her hand, showing a gleaming Head Girl badge.

Draco withheld a snarl.

_Of course, she'd fucking get Head Girl_.

Granger gave a little squeal and launched herself at him. Before he could fight her off, she landed in his arms. He caught her on instinct, slamming tight to his chest just as she snaked her hands behind his head and crashed their lips together.

The pressure, the delicious smell, the softness— It was a punch in the gut, quick and potent. He forgot to breath in his panic.

In the dark parts of his mind, Draco had always desired to do this. Except in his fantasy he didn't sport garish red hair, and Granger wore green. If there was a scale from pure to dirty, she'd be a mudslide. But she was the prettiest witch in his year, if he were to be honest, and the only witch who would never allow him to touch her.

Her lips molded to his, an invitation to move. He hesitated, thinking, his fingers clenched.

It was wrong. He wore another face. She did not know it was him. Something small in him cared, but a larger part didn't give a fuck. Who would ever know? And when would he ever have the chance again to snog The Mudblood?

**Hermione**

Hermione broke the kiss after a moment. She backed up suddenly sheepish. True, she wasn't one to usually initiate the physical affection, and when she did it wasn't with so much… enthusiasm. But Ron's reaction confused her. He was tense: back straight, eyes wide, fist closed.

Then, as if something snapped, he lunged back at her. Their lips attached violently, fingers curling in her hair. Hermione was momentarily breathless. Her confusion turned to surprise. Usually, Ron felt like a friend, his lips cozy. Today they were a hard and hot. He didn't just taste her, he consumed her. Something felt different. She couldn't put her finger on it.

Hermione used all her strength to extradite herself again, pushing his arms until their lips separated with a pop. Ron looked unbalanced as he stood glaring at her.

"Ron," Hermione hedged. "Are you okay?"

Ron frowned as if something she said he found to be distasteful.

"Shut up," he said.

Hermione placed a hand on her chest in shock.

"Ron—"

"I said shut up." He gripped the back of her head again, slamming them together once again. "For once in your in life, stop talking." He mumbled through kisses. He brought his lips to her throat, giving a nip.

She tried being angry but couldn't concentrate, especially as he ran his tongue sideways across her skin and kissed the soft spot just behind her ear. She clenched her hands into his shirt in response.

"Are you drunk?"

"Just about," Ron answered.

Hermione's stomach dropped to her toes, and something buzzed inside her that she never felt before. His lips returned to hers, using his tongue to open her mouth. The tip gently dipped in, and when his warm tongue touched hers, the sensations exploded inside her. He tasted like firewhiskey and chocolate, and she widened her mouth to taste more, riding off instinct.

They had never done this before, open-mouthed, ferocious. He felt experienced, as if he'd done this plenty before.

Something was off, but her mind couldn't form a rational thought. The feelings overwhelmed her. She didn't fight when he walked forwards, forcing her legs to make several retreating footsteps. She didn't say no when one free hand gripped the back of her shirt into a ball, and his other hand slammed the door shut. She didn't refuse when he guided her body until the back of her legs hit against the bed, making her lose balance and collapse against the mattress. His weight pinned her down, settling between her open legs. She almost protested when his hand inched under her shirt, but he silenced her when he brushed the skin under her belly button, causing something inside her to burn.

She moaned. It was permission. They had never done this before. Ron had always treated her like glass. It wasn't because she was a prude. She wasn't waiting for marriage or anything. She lost her virginity to Victor Krum, though it hadn't been anything to write home about, and she had several flings with muggle boys during her summer breaks. Honestly, it had just never been the right time with Ron. They had either been fighting or grieving for so long it felt odd to add sex to the mix.

But today he was insistent, demanding, and Hermione found she could not deny him. He could do what he wanted with her.

She kissed back, sliding her hands up the back of his arms, then threaded them through his hair. He intensified with her participation, giving a mangled groan. They both became frantic, pawing at clothes. They had too much separating them.

The apex of their thighs met naturally. She felt his erection, hard and hot through his pants. She rocked against him, seeking the sensation. They groaned at the same time, as she arched her back and he gripped her hips.

"Do that again, and I won't stop."

He seemed to warn her of something, but she wasn't afraid. In response, she rocked again, loving the way his eyes lit on fire, loving the little sound of pleasure he made at the back of his throat.

"I don't want you to stop."

"You must have some obscure Veela blood. Fucking dangerous." Ron backed up a bit and gave a smirk that was not at all like him. "I've waited a long time for this." He tugged up the edges of her shirt, and she helped him by lifting her arms so that it slid off her head. She let it fall and sat back awkwardly.

Ron fell silent. His eyes flicked up and down in such a way that her cheeks became hot. Even with her bra on she still felt naked. He reached up and cupped a breast. The soft fabric of the bra crinkled in his hands, as he gave a slow roll of his thumb over her nipple. It hardened under his hand, visible under the cotton, and she pressed tighter against him in open desire.

"Fuck," Ron groaned, as if on the edge of control. He pressed his forehead into hers, panting. "You're making it impossible to do the right thing." He seemed at war with himself and then shrugged, the tension releasing from his body. "Fuck morality. When have it let it control me, anyway?"

Hermione's brows furrowed at that, unsure what he meant, but before she could delve too deep in the thought, he captured her lips again as if starved for something. They rocked against each other, until he pulled back and smirked, one hand inching down to his pants.

But then he looked down and stilled, eyes widening.

"What happened here?" He noticed her scars, jolting her a little out of the moment. How could he not? They were violent and jarring. She was surprised he didn't see them before. He traced the purple ones spiraling around her belly. The dark magic in the curse made it so her wounds wouldn't disappear no matter what concealing potion she used.

"The Department of Mysteries," she said. "Don't you remember? Dolohov did it."

"I remember now," Ron answered, still tracing. His expression grew dark. The memory not a pleasant one.

"They're ugly, I know."

Hermione wanted to retreat. No one had seen the scars except Madame Pomfrey and her mother. She placed her hands in front of them, but Ron pulled them away.

"They're compelling."

His normal, wide blue eyes were lowered and nearly dark. His lips twisted into an expression she had never seen him wear, as if he won something.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're beautiful, Granger?"

He leaned down and kissed her again with half lidded eyes, but Hermione's were wide with realization.

_What. The. Fuck. _

Hermione bucked against him, reaching down to grip her wand, but the Ron impersonator was faster. The wand slipped out of her pocket and into his hand. His own wand, which must have been hidden in a holster on his upper arm, slid out with one command and pressed hard against her throat.

"No screaming," He whispered against her lips.

The Ron impersonator still pressed hard against her but allowed her arms loose. She covered her scars with one arm, shame already heating her cheeks a bright pink. With the other, she arched back and slapped the fiend across his face.

"I guess I deserve that," the liar said, moving his jaw, but didn't show it affected him in any other way. "How did you know?"

"Ron wouldn't call me Granger."

"You never fail to be clever."

They both stared at each other, panting and analyzing.

"Who are you?"

He smirked as if the secret gave him pleasure.

"You know, all this time I thought you were a walking, sexless textbook. You might be Hogwarts' best kept secret."

He wasn't going to answer her. She knew this, but she still vibrated with rage. She had given her trust to Ronald Weasley, not some random cad who thought he had a right to touch her.

"I'll find out who you are," Hermione grimaced, allowing the fury to infect everything she said. "And when I do, I'll involve the authorities."

The Ron impersonator backed away. With the pressure gone, she gathered her shirt and bunched it against her chest.

"Go ahead. I'll even keep this as incentive to solve the mystery." He brandished her wand in a taunting way and headed to the door. "I was planning on you never discovering me, but the look on your face when you find out would be too delicious to pass up."

The Ron imposter stashed her wand in his robe pocket, gave a mocking smirk, and exited the room.


	2. One Hundred Galleons

**Song Suggestion**: Unlike Pluto- "Worst in Me"

**One Hundred Galleons**

**Hermione**

Hermione solved the mystery soon after. The wand that had been pointed at her throat was ten inches long, made of Hawthorn wood, with a unicorn hair core. She remembered it because Harry carried it on the last legs of their journey until his death.

She never thought of its whereabouts, never thought about what happened to it after the final battle as Harry lay bent and broken next to a disfigured Voldemort, both dead from the green light of the killing curse. After that moment, the details of the day didn't matter, drowning in her grief.

At some point, Draco Malfoy retrieved his old wand and reconnected with it.

"_Has anyone ever told you that you're beautiful, Granger?"_

Draco Malfoy kissed her and saw her half-naked. His hands touched her scars, lightly traced her stomach and would likely gone as far as she let him, if she hadn't discovered the deception. Her insides wanted to flip outside of her in shame. She had liked kissing Draco bloody Malfoy, and the realization made her want to puke up her guts. She tried reasoning with herself that she thought it was Ron, but the acid still burned in her throat.

But how and why was he in the room?

How was answered easily enough, when Ron staggered into the Gryffindor common room two hours later, holding his head with one hand.

"Bugger, this is one hell of a headache."

"Ronald Weasley, where have you been?" Her voice sounded shrill. She did not care. Her anger could not be contained.

"I dunno, 'mione." He rubbed the palm of his hand into his eyes, "First I was eating these chocolates. Next, I was a stone on the ground. I don't remember a thing beyond that."

Hermione ripped the half-eaten box from his hands and inspected it.

"Aren't these the chocolates I specifically told you to dispose of in the rubbish bin?"

Ron colored a little. He held up both hands in defeat.

"You're right, I shouldn't have. I just thought—"

"What? That you had some sort of secret admirer because you're the flubbering hero? Is that it?"

"Geez, Hermione. No need to get so angry. I was just a little hungry. Don't read too much into it."

Hermione gave a silent scream under her breath. She noticed the people who were in the room hid silently behind couches and doors, and a good thing too, because when Hermione was angry, she tended to lecture and rant, and nobody wanted to be on the receiving end.

"Next time listen to me. There are still people who want us dead. Your selfishness could have hurt your parents."

Ron paled. The image of a dead Fred and his mother's broken sobs stood between them despite Hermione not meaning to bring it up. It ate up the rest of Hermione's anger.

Hermione pivoted, stomped over to the roaring fire, and threw the chocolate into the flames. It gave weird sparks of green as the added sleeping potion sizzled and increased the flames. She didn't stay around any longer to watch it burn. She ran to her room and threw herself on the bed, attempting to dislocate her guilty feelings by focusing on the problem at hand.

She now knew Malfoy used a sleeping potion on Ron to incapacitate him and steal a hair for the Polyjuice potion. It was shrewd in the fact it helped him get past her wards, since most wards worked off DNA, despite wizards not understanding the science behind it, and she made her wards accept Ron long ago. She should have made them stronger, but to do so required darker magic which she refused to do, or old magic which she didn't have access. And why would she need to guard her room so strongly in the middle of Hogwarts in the first place?

The logistics were solved, leaving only one question: why? That was the question that mattered, and it took longer to uncover. She made a list in her mind of all the reasons it could be.

One: He had an infatuation with her.

Despite her head wanting to circle that easy conclusion, her intuition told her that it was wrong. For one, she kissed him first. He had looked surprised, almost hesitant. If that was his sole intent, he would have lunged at her first. Draco was a prat, but she conceded he just took advantage of the situation offered.

Two: A mission for the Death Eaters

There were still rogue bands of Death Eaters roaming the land, making attempts on Aurors. And they were organizing again notwithstanding half of them dead or in Azkaban. However, despite having the tattoo branded on his arm, Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater. She remembered his grey face after the Final Battle, just as shell shocked as the rest of them.

Three: His father's impending trial.

She thought of this reason while eating lunch in the Great Hall. She had been ignoring Malfoy's eyes all day, not wanting to give off the vibe yet she knew it was him, until she discovered more to the story. The moment it popped into her mind it rung true.

His father currently sat in a Ministry holding cell, awaiting trial for his crimes during the war. He was arrested a few days after Harry died. He put up no resistance and allowed both his home and all his assets to be confiscated. Draco and his mother moved into a home inherited from the Blacks.

It rankled Hermione the moment it happened because Lucius was so confident, despite participating in torture, death, and she suspected, quite a few rapes, that he would walk free. He wore a nonchalant smile in all his pictures, a face telling the public his money would win in the end.

Hermione refused to let that happen. It was a brand new world, free from Voldemort, and Hermione would do whatever possible to ensure scum like Lucius Malfoy remained behind bars.

Draco could stay free. He was young, and as far as she knew, never committed any serious crimes beyond allowing Death Eaters into Hogwarts, which was done under duress. Narcissa also redeemed herself with the memories she gave that showed her lying to Voldemort about Harry.

However, Lucius was a monster and deserved to sit and think on what he did for the rest of his life without respite.

The only problem: lack of evidence.

All his victims left alive either were bought or blackmailed so they backed away from presenting at the trial.

Until Kadilila Codona.

She was a middle-aged muggleborn witch who went to Hogwarts with Lucius Malfoy. He made the mistake of unmasking himself moments before forcing her to undress and raping her. She wasn't sure why he risked identification, but assumed it was to soothe his prey.

The memory she viewed of the crime was something she couldn't easily forget.

"It's me or Avery. I think we all know who you'd prefer. It'll be like old times, Kadi," Lucius Malfoy said as he walked closer to the shivering woman.

The nickname made her come undone.

"But why?"

"The Dark Lord will know if you come out unscathed."

"Don't kill me," she had pleaded.

To his credit, Malfoy Sr. looked hesitant.

"That's not up to me."

The actual rape was short-lived and not violent, for Codona did not resist. Upon finishing, Lucius stood and cleaned both with a spell.

"That felt just as I remember."

She reached out and gripped his arm to stand with a shaking hand.

"What of my husband?"

"He's dead… or will be soon." His face hardened, as if remembering himself, and he shoved her hand off him.

"What of my son?"

"Probably dead as well." Lucius brushed his robes, as if he really didn't care, turning to leave.

"You need to save him."

"I don't need to do anything."

"He's nearly Draco's age, only a year younger."

Lucius Malfoy stilled, his back straightening. Hermione heard a deep male scream in the background, probably the husband. His face whipped around studying the woman for a long moment. She was still very pretty, with dark curls, dusky skin, and hazel eyes.

"What are you telling me?"

"I'm asking you to save him."

Hermione could not tell what Lucius was thinking with his shuttered expression. Finally, Lucius nodded. Just once.

"Hide in the closet," he told her. "If Avery finds you, there will be no mercy."

She broke then and sobbed on the ground for a moment before crawling to the closet. Once the door shut, Lucius sent a spell towards the door that disguised it into a bookcase.

Initially, Codona did not want to come out against him. It shocked Hermione to know the woman and Lucius once had a dalliance back in their Hogwarts days, despite her blood status. They had a history, they had a past.

But still. He raped her during the war, and it was something he had to atone for. Lucius chose to follow a madman, knowing the potential collateral. He was called to rape, torture, and kill and did not hesitate to do so, though from the looks of it, he did not take true pleasure in it.

Codona, under pressure from authorities, finally agreed to show her memories from that night, but with a caveat. She would only show them if Hermione Granger helped with the trial.

"She's the only witch in this cursed world I can trust. She helped defeat Voldemort. Broke into Gringotts. Withstood torture by Bellatrix Lestrange. Her intelligence is unmatched, and she's the only one here that would spit on Lucius Malfoy if he tried to bribe her. If anybody can help bring him to justice, it's her. Otherwise, I'll be destroyed during the process."

_Why me?_ Hermione wanted to question, but on one level she understood. Muggleborns were a minority, and after the war, they raised her up as their champion, on level with Harry Potter. And the ministry was still riddled with corruption.

So it came to pass that Hermione, as a favor to Shaklebolt, sat in front of a pensive a few weeks before her Eighth year, watching as Lucius grunted over an old flame. She wished she could burn the memories from her mind, scrub her eyeballs. It stuck to her soul like fresh-chewed gum.

Wizarding courts could not retain or file the memory until after it was subject to review to make sure it was not tampered with. Several weeks before school started, Kadilila pushed the evidence into Hermione's hands.

"It's not safe with me or anywhere else," she explained. "We need this to find him guilty. It's the only iron-clad evidence. Without it, we're doomed, and the ramifications for us if he isn't convicted will be severe. I trust you can find a way to keep it safe because the ministry won't."

She almost said no. The responsibility was too great, but she eventually she agreed. The only place Hermione could think of as safer than the ministry, and maybe even more so, was Hogwarts. So she stashed the vial in her bag on the train, keeping it in her room until the time came for it to be reviewed.

Hermione forgot to factor in Draco. Forgot that he was still a threat. Forgot that he was smart enough to magic in the Death Eaters to kill Dumbledore.

"Hermione, did you hear me?"

Hermione snapped out of her daze, staring at the uneaten toast in front of her. Ginny leaned across the table, her eyebrows furrowed.

It hit her then—why Malfoy was in her room.

She stood abruptly, knocking a plate down in her haste. But she did not care. In a panic, she flew out the Great Hall. Her robes ruffled up behind her.

**Draco**

"I want it back, Malfoy."

The bushy-haired witch stared at him as if to slice him apart and feed him to the giant squid. He felt a smirk pull up the corners of his lips.

She stood at the entrance of an abandoned classroom, tapping a foot in anxious irritation. After seeing her fly out of the Great Hall this morning, her face contorted with realization, he knew it was only a matter of time before she found him. So he made it easy for her and waited by himself next to a stack of neglected textbooks in an abandoned classroom, his feet perched on a dusty desk in front of him.

He did not understand the exact way she tracked him but assumed she carried some sort of map. He's suspected for years Potter had something like it up his sleeve. How else did he stalk him so well in sixth year? How else did the golden trio sneak around the castle so easily?

"I've been looking forward to you figuring it out."

He could think of little else. A little thrill went through him at the memory of soft skin, of purple scars, of rose lips. Her nipples pebbling under his thumb, her head thrown back in ecstasy. The image of curls haloed around her head, looking up at him with wide doe eyes haunted him. If a kiss felt that fantastic, he could imagine fucking her would alter his reality.

Yes, she was dirty, but he found he didn't care. And contrary to popular belief, neither would his father, so long as they didn't breed or marry. It didn't threaten any belief. The mudblood didn't belong in his world, didn't deserve the wand that jutted out of his pocket, but it didn't make her any less beautiful. In the end, his instincts instructed him to pursue, and Draco didn't like denying himself anything.

So he wouldn't.

And after the last two years of mind fucks, he needed this. Needed a distraction that tasted like mint toothpaste and felt like magic spun silk under his fingertips before the pressures of reality hit again. One more year to do whatever he wanted, and he wasn't going to waste it.

Hermione's nose flared. She stepped inside the classroom and closed the door. She was dressed like an old spinster, with her shirt buttoned up the entire way, her robe covering any feminine attributes. He undressed her with his mind, popping one button at a time.

"What did you do with it?" She asked.

"Your wand? Well, you see, I stuck it up Weasel's—"

"Not the wand. You know what I'm asking about, you thieving piece of shit."

"Tsk, Tsk," Draco said, "Name calling is never going to get you what you want, and neither is brute force. You're here to make a deal. And I'm here to give you one."

"Give it to me, Malfoy, or I'll tell the ministry you stole from me, and they'll throw you in Azkaban for obstruction of justice, even without the charge of illegal use of Polyjuice potion."

Draco tapped his chin as if in thought.

"True, but it still won't give you what you want in the end. I'll have destroyed the evidence by that point—that is, if I haven't already—and then poor Kadilila will never get justice. And furthermore, little witch, you currently have no solid proof I was the one who took them. It could have been anyone, really."

Hermione turned purple in rage but took a few breaths and returned to a normal color. She glared at him.

"You talk of a deal. Are you insinuating you'll give up the evidence?"

"For a price."

"I find that hard to believe. Your father would be thrown in Azkaban."

Draco shrugged.

"It will be a high price."

In truth, Draco was not worried about his father. He had survived Azkaban before. Not that it was likely he would be put in there anyway. He didn't plan on ever giving her the memory in the first place, no matter what he promised. In every bargain, there were loopholes, and Granger was enough of a Gryffindor, she wouldn't see them.

Hermione grew silent. He almost saw the information absorbing into her brain.

"State your terms," she finally said.

"It's less of a deal and more of a bet."

"I'm not a gambler. I refuse to play games." Hermione crossed her arms across her chest. A steady shimmer of magic crackled around her.

"Where's the fun in that? Anything worth having deserves a measure of risk, wouldn't you say?"

In truth, Draco wasn't a gambling man either. He was a strategy player. He analyzed and weighed each move before sliding the pieces across the board.

"Fine," her eyes sparked. "Go on. Explain."

"I bet you one hundred galleons we'll shag by Winter Hols."

Granger's mouth dropped. He relished her shock. He whipped her off balance, just the way he wanted.

"Why you gross… I would never—"

"Oh, you will. Because I refuse to lose. I've developed a strange taste for bushy-haired know-it-all mudbloods, and I'm afraid nothing but the best will do."

Hermione's magic snapped.

"Accio wand!"

The cords of her magic wrapped around the wand in his pocket and with a powerful tug, it ripped out and flew into her waiting hand.

"Give me the memory, or I'll stun you and take it anyway."

"I'm not stupid enough to keep it on my person. You'll never find it on your own. Which is why you need to consider the second part of the deal. Call it incentive. Call it enticement —"

"I'm not following."

He lowered his eyes and stared hard at her until she became uncomfortable and shifted from foot to foot.

"If you let me shag you senseless, the memory is all yours."

She stalked forward until the tip of her wand dug under his throat. "What you're proposing isn't a bet or a deal; it's extortion." She breathed hard through her nose, like a bull ready to charge. "You're asking me to be a whore."

"Not extortion, just an exchange. Everything has a price, correct? You made the mistake of bringing the memory to Hogwarts and using shitty wards." He brushed a stand of hair out of his face. "Besides, I don't know what you're whining about. You'll win regardless. Either we shag, you have a nice time, and get the memory, or we don't, and I owe you one hundred galleons. It sounds fair to me. If anything, it's me who loses. Either I give you the memory or I lose one hundred galleons. I have a price to pay either way." He trailed a finger down the wood, just brushing her knuckles before dropping his hand to his side. In response, her wand poked harder into his skin.

"If you lose something regardless, then why propose the deal in the first place?"

"Because I always get what I want. And right now, I want to you naked and panting my name. I'm willing to pay the hefty sum required."

"I'm not something you can buy. I'm not a toy."

He tired not to laugh in her face. Everyone can be bought. Everyone has a weak spot to twist and exploit. He disdained his father's life lesson, but this one he took to heart.

"Yet you are considering it."

Hermione paused. She bit her bottom lip, in her thinking pose

"If we... engage in intercourse, I'll still owe you one hundred galleons based on the terms of the bet. That's hardly motivation to do the deed." He was impressed she already caught the first loophole. If she hadn't discovered it, he would have held the debt over her as leverage for the future. He didn't think Hermione was poor, but she wasn't his level of wealth. One hundred galleons was a hefty sum to pay off.

"Still being clever, aren't you?" He tilted his head to the side. "if you please me enough, I'll forgive the debt."

Hermione grimaced. He almost saw the fury sparking from her.

"Fine," he conceded, holding up his hands to soothe her. "There would be no debt on your part. Does that satisfy you?"

She snorted in disdain.

"And what happens if I refuse to give into you by the timetable?"

"I get rid of the evidence, and my father stays free. But don't worry, crawling into my bed won't be a chore. I'll make sure to seduce you properly. I'm many terrible things, but a rapist isn't one of them. No, I'll only fuck you if you spread your legs and beg me." He stopped and she gave him a searing look that showed him what he already knew—Granger would be a challenge. She'd need to be convinced, despite the evidence. "In the end it's just one night. One pleasurable night and you can have your precious memory. And who knows?" He gave a wicked smirk. "Maybe you'll come back for seconds."

The statement snapped Hermione's control.

"Stupefy!" A violent burst of colored sparks erupted from the end of her wand. He stood up, showing it was ineffective on him.

"What did you do to it?" She shook it to rid it of the rainbow sparks.

"I blunted it for the time being, anticipating your Gryffindor instinct to fire first."

"But how?" She looked curious, despite her anger.

"Blood magic is predictable. It's my Aunt Bella's correct? It's easy to tweak if it recognizes family. It'll be back to normal use in a few hours. You know," he sounded thoughtful, "I'm surprised it responds to you. I'm even more surprised you kept it."

He glanced down at the word mudblood carved into her arm. The scar she refused to hide.

"I earned it."

"Fair enough," Draco shrugged. "Though I'm certain it only responds because you're on the edge of madness yourself."

She raised her fist as if to strike him in anger, but he was ready and gripped her wrist, twisting her so that she was bent over the dusty desk in front of him.

He leaned across her, allowing himself the pleasure of having her body underneath him, and whispered into her ear.

"See, edge of madness. You struck me once when we were children and once when I deserved it, but I'm no longer a child, and it won't happen again." His lips hovered against the skin under her ear. She smelled like lavender and soap. "Though I consent I might still deserve it."

She screamed in anger into a closed mouth and bucked against him. She wouldn't have done that if she knew how good it felt.

He gripped one of her hands, tangling their fingers together.

"Do you agree to the terms?" He asked. "Yes or no, Granger. There's no time to waste."

She closed her eyes.

"Yes," she said. "Now get off me."

He felt briefly victorious, despite knowing that would be her answer. She was too much of a martyr. The trial depended on her, and she'd sacrifice for it.

"Not yet," he said. He placed his wand to their joined fingers and muttered the spell required for Wizard bets. He watched as the blue light swirled into a pattern and embedded into their skin, disappearing.

"What did you do?"

"Made it official. Now there can be consequences if the terms are not fulfilled."

Hermione bucked against him again to push him off. It felt as good as the first time.

"Careful Granger, we just entered a bet, and there are games afoot."

He let his lips linger until she shivered underneath him, and then he raised himself, let her go, and exited the abandoned classroom.


	3. Potions and Bludgers

**Song Suggestion: **Tessa Violet- "Crush"

**Potions and Bludgers**

**Hermione**

Incorrigible prat. Bastard son of a Mandrake. Insufferable flobberworm. Hermione Granger's insults grew more creative as the days dragged on. It started in their shared potions class.

"Today we're pairing up in partners," the new NEWT-level potions master, Professor Gianna, told the students.

Everyone gave a little groan. Hermione scanned the crowd in a slight panic. A small part of her still felt like first-year Hermione, afraid of rejection.

The available partners were scant few. Her usual partner, Padma Patil, was out sick. The other Gryffindor left, Dean, already paired up with Katie Bell. What remained paired up quickly, leaving her in a lurch. There were three students left besides her: Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, and Draco Malfoy. The latter sat back in his chair, feet up on his desk with a quill in his mouth. An arrogant smile pulled on his lips as he looked at her with one eyebrow raised.

No way in the seven levels of hell would she pair up with Parkinson. Malfoy almost seemed preferable.

Nott though… Hermione did not know him much, even after seven years being his classmate, even after a war. His father was a death eater, but she had never seen him partake in any muggleborn hatred. Her staring got his attention. Hazel eyes hidden behind glasses looked back at her and seemed just as apprehensive as she felt, a light blush blooming on his cheekbones. Hermione almost got up to go sit next to him, no matter how awkward that would be, but then Malfoy whispered something into Pansy's ear. The girl got up and slipped into the seat next to Nott, stealing her lifeline.

It left Draco ferret-looking Malfoy. Just the way he wanted.

"I guess I get the banshee." Draco took the quill out of his mouth and swept his feet down in a haughty manner, making a slow walk over. Pansy snickered. She heard a few more scattered around the classroom but refused to acknowledge where they came from. "Granger, you might need to pull that bush you call hair back while I work. I'm afraid it might come alive and strangle me."

More snickers. He sat much too close. His knee brushed hers under the table. She scooted hers away and ignored him, like she always did, blinking once in his direction before looking to the front of the classroom. To give him any attention, even a retort, would validate him.

It was almost comforting that he stayed his usual toad self. The thought of him seducing her made her shudder enough, but the thought of him being nice was far worse.

The rest of the class turned into a game of cat and mouse. A slight brush of knuckles while moving his quill across paper. His elbow pressing against her as he yawned and stretched. His fingers twisting a curl at her back when no one looked.

"Stop annoying me." She shrugged past him and stomped to the potions closet in search of ingredients. It was a walk-in storage with glass vials in orderly rows. She was sad to see Snape's thin scrawl still on the labels.

She looked at the N section, intending to pick up Newt slime when she heard someone behind her. She didn't have to see him to know Draco Malfoy stood at her back. She refused to turn to look at him.

"Hurry Granger."

"You'll just have to be patient."

He leaned across her back, picking up fly wings before placing it back down. The scent of his expensive cologne invaded her senses. Hermione stopped herself from breathing it in deep. It smelled far too enticing.

"I've come to terms with the fact I'm not a patient man," he whispered low in her ear. It vibrated down to her toes.

He wasn't talking about potion ingredients. Hermione tried to wiggle away, but he gave a shove to her shoulder returning her to the position. The movement was almost violent, and it shocked her enough she stayed put.

He trapped her in there as he searched and took his time. They were ahead of the other students, as usual, and the closet was big enough they were hidden from view. She felt his breath against her hair, tickling her scalp. His arms were on either side of her against the shelf of the ingredients. Occasionally, he would pick up a bottle and put it down. She shuddered to think what anybody else would think if they saw them like this.

"Can you move?" Hermione asked, exasperated. "Or at least let me out." She dared not try and turn around because then she'd still be trapped but facing him.

"Not until I find what I'm looking for."

"Which is?"

She felt it then. His lips on the place where her neck met her shoulder. A tiny fluttering feeling light enough to be a butterfly. His soft hair brushed against her skin. Then his teeth went out and nipped her skin, and her nerves exploded, sending an electric current across her body. The hair on her arm stood up. She gave a small gasp and placed her hand on the shelf to steady herself.

"There it is." He grabbed the beetle paste and exited as if he didn't just throw her world off balance, as if everything was normal. Despite herself, everything inside her twisted and turned.

She stood there in the closet, panting, scared. This time it wasn't Ronald Weasley. It wasn't a disguise or a lie. It was Draco bloody Malfoy.

And her body responded.

What was worse is that he knew it too.

She walked back to the desk, wiping her hands against her robes to control the shaking. She sat as if nothing happened, ignoring him.

But he continued to smirk, because he won the battle, and now Hermione was afraid of the war.

**Draco**

Draco hung low in the air on his broom, watching the air carefully for the snitch. He did not worry much. Any competition against him died with Harry Potter. The threat he posed to winning the quidditch cup was why the light-loving Gryffindors resorted to cheating.

Ironically, the illegal practice times would be the very reason the Slytherins would win. Once Draco knew they existed, it took only a little bit of investigation before he knew the location. From there, he found their quidditch equipment out and open for tampering. All it took was a few simple tracking spells to the bludgers to make the game interesting.

Already one smacked into Ginny Weasley, sending her to Pomfrey, and another narrowly whizzed by Abbey Winnow, a fourth year, who was so terrible it wouldn't be a loss if the bludger hit her.

It was twenty minutes into the game, and he was certain the Gryffindors were catching on that only their side was being struck. As soon as it was swatted away, it homed back in to them. They panted, exhausted, before the assault began again. His team, never ones to pass up good luck, even ill-begotten luck, scored an outrageous amount of points, crowing in the air with each one.

The best part was that nobody could call him out on it, for then they'd have to admit to cheating. The situation was delicious.

"I knew you were bad, Weasel," he called out, after another quaffle whizzed by the Orange baboons head. "But this is embarrassing."

The boy's face turned a putrid color in anger, mottling every shade of red. What Granger saw in the waste of space, he'd never know. He had always assumed she and Potter would get together. The thought turned his stomach, but he would understand the match. After all, Harry was the _chosen one_, and he always seemed to win, despite the odds. At least he did until the end. Even then, he managed to die in a rather spectacular fashion, saving the entire wizarding world in the process.

But Weasley? The sixth son born to pathetic parents? Draco had to admit that the older Weasley brothers were all slightly impressive, especially the dragon tamer and the curse breaker. Even the wonder twins garnered his grudging respect. However, Weasley held no redeeming quality.

He searched out Granger to find her bundled up in the stands with a crimson scarf wrapped around her mouth, protecting herself from the first cold snap of the season. He only knew it was her from the frizzy, unmanageable curls. Her eyes watched Weasley, hands clasped in front of her.

While he was preoccupied, two things happened at once. The golden snitch appeared inches from his nose, and a bludger zoomed straight toward Weasley. Draco grasped the fluttering object after only a short, easy chase just as the bludger smacked right into the ginger's chest. Weasley fell off his broom like a doll. A levitation spell from Granger caught him inches from the ground.

Draco held up the snitch in triumph, but the crowd did not pay attention to the celebration. They gasped in unison as several professors rushed to Ronald Weasley's side.

Draco did not hide his irritation well as he descended to the field and landed, walking off his broom. His team surrounded him with whoops and shoulder slaps, but it felt hollow with the crowd, and especially Granger, not watching his victory.

In his early years, he wanted nothing more than to smear Potter and the Gryffindors into the ground. He wanted to grasp the quidditch cup, knowing he won, and they lost.

Now he finally won, and nobody fucking noticed.

Draco stalked away, already shrugging off his quidditch leathers, no longer in the mood to smile. Finnegan flew Granger down to the bottom of the quidditch pitch, and she ran to Weasley.

On the way to the locker rooms, he couldn't help but see the way Granger brushed the red hair from Weasley's unconscious face, the way her mouth pinched in worry, the way she bent down and brushed her lips against his forehead, grasping his hand.

A sharp stab of jealousy went through him. He clenched his hands. It surprised him with its intensity. He couldn't get the bint off his mind—awake, dreaming, studying, flying. He felt himself going mad and knew he had to get it out of his system and fast.

To get Granger he'd have to switch up his usual tactics. She wouldn't be the type to be wooed by money and jewelry, and he didn't think she would be much impressed by his lineage either. Neither did he think she cared much for his personality when stripped of those things.

What would the mudblood desire? What gift would she embrace despite herself?

An unconscious Weasley floated past him as a plan formed in his mind. Granger and her Gryffindor crew raced after the limp body not even glancing at Draco once.

He'd have to drive a wedge between her and her undeserving boyfriend. There could be no other way to proceed, even if it was achieved though underhanded methods. The next time he snogged the mudblood it certainly wouldn't be in a body with red hair and freckles.

And he knew just how to do it too.


	4. The Prince and the War Hero

**Song Suggestion:** Florence + The Machine- "Drumming Song"

**The Prince and the War Hero **

**Hermione**

Hermione squeezed Ron's hand one last time. He had awoken earlier in a confused rage from pain. Pomfrey put him back to sleep until the worst of it was healed. He was lucky. A fragment of a rib lacerated a section of his heart. In the muggle world, he would probably be dead. Even in the magical world, it was a serious wound.

The bludgers acted funny during the game. They looked tampered with. Just the thought made her simmer in fury. She wasn't sure she could ever prove it, but the whole thing stunk of Malfoy. It resembled his style, underhanded and vicious. He may not be a real Death Eater, but he was a prat, and a vindictive one at that.

It was a mystery, the bludgers, but without Harry she felt lost on how to proceed. Her old self would throw herself into the problem, researching and investigating. Harry would do a few daring excursions in the night and all would be solved.

"Sorry Ron," she whispered. "I don't have it in me to solve it."

Hermione bent down and gave a peck on his freckles before standing and exiting the medical ward. She hurried down the hallway, shoes clicking against the stone.

It was her first head girl meeting. She had been nervous the day before about it, already drawing up a list of things to do and goals for the year. It took several months of pressure for Hermione's petition to go through and be accepted. The late start meant she was interjecting herself into a system that was already running. The role was shared between four people: the seventh-year heads and a fellow eighth year head boy, who she had zero clue who it'd be.

She reached her destination.

"Hogwarts, a history," Hermione said. She had overseen the new password and couldn't find anything more fitting for the meeting room.

She took a breath as the door opened, revealing Clara Hightower, a Hufflepuff, and a seventh year Slytherin named Callum Mason.

He had dark hair that curled on the edges, deep olive skin, with striking grey eyes. He slicked his hair into a hairstyle that reminded Hermione of the 1940's and wore a nice pair of robes. Hermione never paid attention to the younger classes, besides Luna, and even less to the lower Slytherin years, but she found it hard to believe she'd never noticed him before.

"You're late," a voice said, distracting her. She would know it even if she was blind.

Draco Malfoy sat next to Clara with a cup of tea to his lips, one leg propped up on the other. Hermione wanted to be shocked to see him there, but she wasn't. He was second in their class, barring sixth year when he stopped caring. He was also very popular. Not with Gryffindors, but the other houses fawned over him, for his influence, money, and looks. It made sense that McGonagall would choose him, since her goal for the year was unity among houses. Who else to spearhead the repair of Hogwarts, both physically and socially, than the Gryffindor muggleborn war hero and the Slytherin pureblood prince.

Though it must've been a draining, difficult choice for the headmistress given what the cockroach did his sixth year.

"Forgive me for my tardiness," Hermione talked between clenched teeth. "I was caring for my boyfriend, Ron Weasley. A strange, errant bludger nearly killed him."

"How tragic," Draco drawled.

The other people in the room would be blind not to sense both the tension, sarcasm, and outright vitriol in the short exchange. She turned her attention to the seventh-year heads.

"Sorry, you must think me rude, I'm Hermione—"

"I'm sure they know," Draco cut in dryly.

"_Granger_," she finished, ignoring him again. "It's nice to meet you."

Hermione held her hand out to the seventh-year heads. Clara felt like a bird, limp and light. Callum, by contrast, gave a firm handshake.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Callum said, looking her up and down. A slight pink tinged the tops of his cheekbones. She heard a scoff from Malfoy and resisted the urge to turn and sneer.

Callum ignored Malfoy as well and his eyes flashed. She was used to people knowing more about her than she did them, but there was something about the stare that unnerved her, as if he knew all her secrets. His lips curled into a smile, and he let go of her hand. She brushed off the feeling.

When she sat, she grabbed a cup of tea from the table in front of her and drank it a sip. She faced Malfoy.

"So how did you manage head boy? Did your mummy give some dirty Malfoy money for your badge?"

"Alas, given the Malfoy fortunes are frozen, we had to dip into Black money for bribery."

The boy could be such a sarcastic, snobbish prat when he wanted to be. Hermione swallowed her retort, intent on not giving him the satisfaction.

"Let's get to business, shall we?" Clara said, cutting off their spat early.

"Yes, that sounds splendid," Draco answered. His eyes were narrowed at Hermione.

"So Clara…" Hermione turned to the seventh year head girl. "Catch us up."

**Draco **

"A dance?" Draco scoffed.

"Yeah, like the yule ball." Clara said.

To be fair, it wasn't an idea that originated from anybody in the room. The ministry pushed for it to celebrate the destruction of the Dark Lord and as the first step to healing the rift in society that was left. The event would be covered by every media outlet.

"That's the daftest thing I've ever heard. What is dressing up and twirling in circles going to do?" Draco thoroughly hated dances or anything he had to get dressed up for and put on airs. He did enough of that in his life at home.

"I agree with Malfoy." Granger grimaced as if the act of agreement caused physical pain. "For Merlin's sake, it won't even be on Victory day. I don't see much point."

Callum shrugged.

"It is decreed. There's not much we can do to get out of it. McGonagall wants the initial plans for theme and decoration on her desk by next week. It'll take place before Christmas, so it won't interfere with NEWTS or graduation."

"Well, I for one am looking forward to it," Clara said. "I was too young for the Yule ball, and the one that was supposed to take place this year is cancelled for obvious reasons."

Draco could see her point, but it didn't change the fact he didn't feel up to celebrating a day filled with so much fear and death. Despite winning, it stung like a loss. It was the day he had to abandon Crabbe in the fire. It was the day Snape died. He doubted Granger was up to it either, given Potter died in front of her. Hell, he hated Weasley, but he was human enough to see he lost both a brother and a best friend in one day. What the ministry wanted was nearly cruel.

However.

_However. _

He still remembered Granger waltzing into the Yule Ball with her hair managed and a dress dripping from her body on the arm of Victor fucking Krum. She looked both sinful and innocent at the same time. Before that moment, he didn't see Granger as a person, let alone a girl. She was a book, an annoying, unending source of facts spewing from her mouth. She was the appendage of Harry Potter.

After that day, he noticed the freckles on her nose. He noticed the way she nibbled her bottom lip in deep thought. He noticed the way her skirt rose an inch as she pulled roots from the ground in Herbology, just enough to get a small glimpse of white thigh. The image gave him enough to fill in his imagination over the years about what the rest of her looked like. His interest ran deeper and longer than the kiss. He understood this and accepted it. It did not scare him as it did in the beginning.

"I change my mind," Draco said, meeting Granger's eyes. "I think a dance is an excellent idea."

"Good," Clara said. "Then you and Hermione can manage that while William and I handle the graduation and… memorial services."

Clara paused at the last two words, throwing a look of pity at Granger, who bit her lip and glanced in the opposite direction, her usually cool façade giving a rare crumble.

Draco forgot sometimes how much trauma she had been through. Her screams haunted him. He could never shake them. They made him awake into cold sweats from the nightmares of his looney aunt carving into her as if she was a roast for dinner.

"Well…" said Callum, clearly feeling the awkward vibe in the room. "That concludes the meeting today. I finished the new schedule for the night rounds for prefects and heads. I'll be handing it out tomorrow after a little tweaking."

Granger nodded her head, a little shimmer to her eyes. One fell down her cheek, and she swiped at it fast.

Callum and Clara rose from their seats, shook their hands, and exited after a few quick and strained goodbyes.

For some reason Draco stayed, though he felt he might regret it. He never did well with crying girls, or emotions in general. But Granger seemed so fragile and vulnerable for once in her life. It stilled something in him.

They sat in silence. Occasionally, she would swipe at her eyes.

After one painful minute, she spoke.

"Victory dance? We didn't win. Our school was nearly destroyed, and half the students and staff slaughtered."

"We didn't lose either."

"Lose? What side were you even on anyway?"

"My own."

She sneered, and Draco had a strange desire to defend himself.

"Let's make one thing clear." He placed both his feet on the ground. "I never wanted that half-breed madman to gain power. He let his pet snake digest a professor on my fucking dining room table. You weren't the only one going through shit during that time. We all suffered."

She snorted, swiping at her eyes again. He didn't remember seeing her cry much during school. She wasn't like Lavender Brown who blubbered over every slight. In fact, the last time he remembered seeing tears in her eyes, beyond the Battle of Hogwarts, he had been a second year and just called her a mudblood for the first time.

"If I remember correctly, you caused more suffering than you actually suffered."

"You don't know anything, mudblood."

Draco bit the inside of his cheek, preventing him from saying more and spilling all his secrets. He wanted to yell back at her, but there was nothing he could say to defend himself. He suffered. Oh, did he suffer. He wished he could tell her how it felt to watch his mother writhe on the ground from the cruciatus curse. He wished he could tell her how it felt to be tasked with killing Dumbledore, a legend of a wizard, and how the dark lord sent a mental image of what exactly he'd do to his family if he failed.

"Mudblood, is it?" Granger's voice was tight and high. "Still? After all we've been through? Holding onto the idea of blood purity won't get you very far in this new world."

"I think you're overestimating society's ability to change."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you should stop fighting something you can't win. You're a mudblood. No one in the wizarding world will ever let you forget it. Why should I?"

Her mouth popped open, and her eyes flashed with something that might have been hurt or maybe surpise, if it wasn't covered quickly by anger.

"If this is your way of getting into my pants, it's no wonder you'll lose one hundred galleons." Granger stood up and brushed her legs as if there was dirt on them. She flicked her riotous curls and exited in a huff. Draco watched the sway of her hips until the door shut.

"Fuck," Draco said. Everything went off the tracks. He had planned to comfort her in her grief, and then she would have been grateful. It was the only reason he suffered through her awkward tears.

He was right about everything. He wouldn't change his view point. She was a mudblood, and society would hold it against her, even with an Order of Merlin, First Class in her pocket.

But she was correct on one front. If he wanted to get into her muggle pants—and he did very much— then maybe he'd have to stop calling her mudblood.

At least to her face.


	5. Battle Plans

**Song Suggestion:** Years & Years- "Real"

**Battle Plans **

**Hermione**

"Hello, Hermione." Ginny waved a pumpkin pasty in her face. "Have you been listening to anything I've been saying?"

"Sorry." Hermione blinked. "I'm just a little… tired."

"You've been distracted a lot this past week." Ginny narrowed her eyes.

"Probably worried about that bugger of an essay in defense," Ron mumbled around a mouthful of food. It both disgusted and brought comfort that something as simple as Ron eating with his mouth full remained a constant fixture in her life.

She wasn't worried about the essay. She finished it a few days after it was assigned with an extra page to boot.

No, her distraction came in the form of albino hair and slate eyes, which lasered into her across the great hall even now. She managed to evade him for the past few days. Even in potions she succeeded in dodging his efforts to corner her again.

During the middle of the lesson, he leaned over when no one watched, his blond hair like silk against her cheek, hand on her elbow.

"You can't ignore me, forever."

She decidedly could. All she had to do was remember the way Mudblood rolled off his tongue, and a burst of rage froze the resolve in her heart. She insisted on complete dismissal, not even giving him a flick of her eyes, no matter what disgusting or insulting thing he said. Hermione intended to block him from her thoughts until winter break. She'd find some other way to pry the memories from his hands, besides entertaining his games.

But the ferret proved wily. When she received her rounds schedule for patrol, the first shift had her name paired with Malfoy. He was right—she couldn't ignore him this time, since he somehow arranged it so they'd be walking in the dark, completely unsupervised, and away from prying eyes for an entire week. Just the thought left her palms sweaty.

Her dilemma wasn't something she could talk to her friends about. Ron would turn into an animal, thinking first with his fists. Ginny might cry. It's all she'd been doing for the last few months, no matter the situation. Neville would fumble awkwardly. Luna would string out some nonsense about Garfunkles that may or may not be relevant to the situation.

Hermione realized how lonely she felt, surrounded by a sea of friends, but unable to talk about anything, still walking on eggshells, since none of them were willing to acknowledge the gaping hole Harry left.

Since his death, she and Ron danced around each other, each accidently probing the missing piece, like a tongue does to the gap left by a missing tooth. The Golden Trio turned into the Golden Duo, and it left them floundering to find a new equilibrium.

No, Hermione had to solve this herself.

She glanced up and viewed Ron, slurping down his mashed potatoes, and an idea came to her.

If this was a war, then Hermione better start making some battle plans.

This time when Ginny spoke to her, Hermione focused on every word.

**Hermione**

Hermione asked Ron to walk her to potions the next day. He did not qualify for the class, so when they reached the classroom in the dungeon, Ron unshouldered her book bag and handed it to her.

"Here you go," he said. "I'll be back after class like you asked."

"Okay." Hermione said, but her eyes weren't on him. They searched the hallways.

Ron turned to leave, but Hermione gripped his arm, digging in her nails. Ron pulled back in surprise.

"Wait."

"What's wrong?" Ron's eyebrows furrowed. For once sensing something a little off.

Hermione stared at the hallway to her right, the only entrance into the potions classroom, until a sudden blond steak zoomed around the corner, walking next to Pansy Parkinson.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked, thoroughly confused. "Your acting funny, Hermio—"

Her lips cut him off, body slamming into him, knocking their teeth together with a painful click, but Hermione carried on, wrapping her arms around his neck. Ron froze, obviously surprised by the intensity, so out of place. But he gave in quick. His hands at first touched her shoulders and then drifted to the middle of her back, pulling her in closer.

"Merlin," Ron whispered against her lips. "I'm not sure what's gotten into you, but I like it."

Hermione only pulled back when she heard a grunt of disgust behind her. She turned to find an irate looking Malfoy, with a sneer on his face. He looked her up and down and narrowed his eyes.

"No one wants to see the mating rituals of a muggleborn and a ginger loser, so please desist before I lose my lunch."

Pansy sniggered, covering her pug nose as she giggled.

"Bugger off, Malfoy." Ron hands still clenched around Hermione's waist.

"Believe me, I'm trying to," he said. "But you're standing in my way."

They stood right in front of the potion's classroom. Hermione tilted her head and leaned into Ron, placing her hands on his chest.

"Ignore him, Ron. He's right..." Hermione looked straight at Malfoy when she said it. His grey eyes stabbed her, as cold as the stone beneath her feet. He understood this was on purpose. "I'd rather find somewhere more _private_."

Hermione watched as red patches blossomed on the fair skin of Draco's neck in response. She'd seen it before, when Harry goaded him, his response to irritation, but she had never been the cause before.

A morbid part of her mind always wondered whether his fair skin would flush across his body, whether it would bloom with a light touch. But as soon as she thought it, she pressed it down tight back into the little box it came from.

Hermione tugged the edges of Ron's robes, and he followed without much prompting, a dumbstruck look stuck on his face. She pulled him down the hallway, until they were out of sight, until Draco's eyes stopped burning into her.

With the privacy came true intimacy. But when Ron bent down to kiss her again, she did something that surprised even herself—she pulled away, turning her face to the side. Ron's lips landed on her cheek, but he didn't notice her sudden indecision. His lips trailed down her neck. Hermione brought a hand up on his shoulder and gave a little shove to stop him. Ron pulled back with his eyebrows crinkled.

"Is everything okay." He cupped her cheek with his wide palm. "Ginny's right. Something's off with you."

"Just—it's the essay, like you said. I'm nervous about it."

"Did you not finish homework?" He felt her forehead. "Are you ill?"

"No—well, I wrote fives pages—"

"We were only required to write three."

"Yes, you're right. I just really think I should have added another."

Ron rolled his eyes and pulled his hand away.

"Same old Hermione." He bent down and gave a peck to her lips. "I'll let you get back to class. I know how anxious you get about being late." He readjusted his own book bag on his shoulder and walked out with a little smile.

Hermione leaned back against the stone and touched her lips.

She meant the kiss as a punishment to Malfoy, to show she belonged with someone else, sever his interest in a sudden stroke.

It wasn't manipulation. Not really. Ron was everything to her. The boy she pined over for years. She used to daydream of his fingers threading through her hair, staring into his eyes under the moonlight. How many times did she stay up late imagining the way their lips would fit together? When it finally happened, they had been too caught up in war and survival there hadn't been time for her to analyze whether it fulfilled her fantasies or not. They fell into each other, for comfort, for anything to combat the darkness.

And then Harry died, and both their worlds shattered.

She meant to show Draco Ron already won long ago.

But the plan backfired.

Because it wasn't until today she noticed the lack of feeling with Ron. She had nothing much to compare it to. Viktor's kisses were open-mouthed and sloppy. The other kisses she experienced were fun but unfulfilling. Ron's kisses always felt as close to comfort as she could imagine, like sipping hot cocoa near a blazing fire.

She brushed her fingers over her bottom lip, remembering the way Draco was like lightning, every cell dancing and coming alive. Suffocating. Drowning. The type of adrenaline rush people jumped out of airplanes for.

Panic wrapped around Hermione. There was no way she could face Draco right now. He'd see the naked truth written across her expression: shocked, as if nothing in the world fit into its correct place. And then he'd capitalize on it, and she was afraid she'd let him.

She needed to escape.

For the first time in her life, Hermione ditched class.

**Draco**

The sun sank in the sky, casting an orange glow around the castle. Draco waited patiently next to an old rusty suit of armor. Occasionally, it turned its squeaky head to view him.

"Will you stop," Draco hissed at the charmed object. "I need quiet."

Draco didn't have to wait long. Hermione Granger clicked her sensible, ugly shoes down the hallway towards him on her way to the library. Draco wanted to roll his eyes. Her daily routine was more predictable than the movements of the stars. The world could turn upside down, and Hermione Granger would still make her daily march along this hallway thirty minutes after dinner.

When her voluminous cloak floated just within reach, Draco snatched his hand out and grabbed her arm, flinging her around and into the stone wall. He advanced on her and placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream, her lips pressed against his fingers.

Hermione surprised him by not only having her wand out but shoving it against the underside of his throat before he could grab it from her.

Maybe she was learning after all.

Not only that but her teeth came out and bit her fingers.

"Fuck… you're a feral little thing," he said and withdrew his hand, shaking it to get rid of the pain. But he refused to back away, even as she stared at him as if to tear the skin from his body. He had things to say to her, and she'd listen.

"Tell me one good reason I shouldn't give you to the centaurs to play with like I did with Umbridge."

Draco experienced a sudden hesitancy. It was easy to forget the tiny, trembling witch pressed against him was formidable enough to trick that vile, kitten-loving old biddy.

"You're right."

He loathed saying it, but it threw her off guard. She pulled backwards, eyes widening.

"What do you mean?"

"It means I won't call you that word again."

_Mudblood._ The word had been a part of his vocabulary since before he could remember. His father said it over his cradle. It meant nothing to him, just another fact of life like saying the sun was bright and fire was hot. There were purebloods and mudbloods, and one was better than the other. He didn't even know the word was an impolite thing to say until he arrived at Hogwarts. He hoped she understood the sacrifices of excising the word.

"I don't believe you."

"I called you a muggleborn when you were kissing that Mandrake disguised as a wizard. If you want me to stop calling you that word, I will."

Hermione eyes jumped around his face, searching for clues to her own puzzle. She wouldn't find anything; he'd make sure of it. If there was one thing he was better at than her, it was occlumency.

"Am I'm supposed to be grateful?" Hermione hissed. "Is it such an accomplishment not calling me a word equating my blood to mud? That's a low bar to hurdle for even a casual acquaintance." Her face transformed back into a snarl. "Is this the moment I should collapse into your arms, as if years of your taunts and bullying aren't fresh on my mind? Sorry, ferret, you'll need to do better than that."

Draco pulled his head back. She might as well slap him, for it would feel the same. It was shock more than anything. It reminded him of the time he reached out his hand to Potter in first year only to have the git turn up his nose at him.

Did the bitch not understand what he offered?

He tightened his grip on her shoulders, and she dug the wand into his throat in warning. He knew full well the danger she posed. War either broke people or rebuilt them stronger. The woman in front of him was made of iron, and the only reason he still stood unscathed was because she didn't want to be expelled.

Even with light spells, she could eviscerate him. He'd even bet she knew the dark curses too. A mind like hers wouldn't be able to resist. Despite being on the "good" side, she probably knew spells that would rip your guts to the outside of your body. Spells that could boil the blood in the veins.

If she didn't know them, he could teach them to her. He wondered if that was the key, something that could entice her—the knowledge of dark spells.

"I'm not expecting you to fall into my arms." Draco released her shoulders once his temper cooled and his wits returned. "I'm just asking you to give me a chance."

"I'd rather not."

Draco sucked in a breath through his nose. The bint made him mad beyond reason. This wasn't going to plan, so it was time to change course.

The suit of armor turned its helmet again, interested in their conversation. Hermione startled, glancing at the tarnished metal.

"Don't mind him," Draco said. "He's a bit of a voyeur." He stopped as if thinking, even though he already knew what he would propose long in advance. "How about a deal?"

"You and your fucking deals." She rolled her eyes.

Draco stepped away, allowing her some space, knowing she'd stay put now that he piqued her curiosity.

"This one is much simpler."

Her eyes narrowed and then brightened, as if already solving whatever problem stuck in her mind.

"Fine. But I get to make my end of the bargain."

Sometimes her clever mind made him want to throttle her. She had something brewing in that giant brain of her, and he had to make sure he was three steps ahead. He stayed silent, long enough it made her burst out in irritation.

"Speak," Hermione said. "I don't have all day. I have a project in herbology that needs my attention. So either state the terms or let me go."

Draco searched her face, trying not to focus on the little freckles on her nose or the shape of her lips. He tried not to notice the flecks of amber in her eyes, glowing like a fire with the light of the sinking sun. If he paid attention, it was enough to make him forget his purpose, enough where's he'd be tempted to give her anything she wanted.

"A gift," he said. "I'm going to send you a gift. And if you accept it, you owe me a kiss."

Hermione snorted.

"You're right…it's simple. Because whatever you give me will go straight in the rubbish bin." Hermione crossed her arms on her chest and tapped the toe of her shoe. "And if your gift rots among Hogwarts' garbage, you need to leave me alone."

"But—"

"No." Hermione shook her head. "I get to make my end of the bargain, and that's what I choose, so take it or leave it."

Draco didn't like this. Not one bit. It could backfire. But he did agree to let her decide the terms, and he happened to have a gift on hand she'd cut off her right thumb before letting it touch the rubbish bin.

"Fine." He stuck out his hand. She eyed it as if it contained basilisk venom and shook her head, refusing to shake. Instead, she lifted her pinky finger. He tilted his head in confusion at the movement.

"I'd rather not be tricked into anymore blue patterns of light embedding into my skin," Hermione explained. "This deal, if you want it, will be done the muggle way."

Draco hesitated before allowing it. He raised his pinky, and she hooked her finger around his and tugged it up and down.

"What an odd way of making deals." He eyed their joined pinky fingers with slight trepidation. It was the first muggle tradition he ever participated in. "Do all muggles do this?"

"Only when they're serious. There's only one handshake more binding, and it involves spitting into palms."

"How utterly disgusting." Draco stopped and smirked. "Though I guess we've already gotten past the stage of swapping spit."

Hermione gave a little groan and shoved him out of the way, their fingers breaking apart with the force. He did not resist, taking several steps backward. Having gotten what he desired, she was free to go.

"You're a fiend."

She trotted off down the hallway. He must be imagining it, but her hips seemed to give a little more sway, as if he knew he was watching.

Draco shrugged and called after her.

"A handsome fiend."

"I guess that makes you Satan himself."

He had no bloody clue what she just said, if it was a compliment or an insult, but the pressure of her finger against his could still be felt, and he rubbed the spot on his skin where their flesh joined.

**Hermione**

Hermione was eating breakfast in the Great Hall when the post came. Just as she finished her jam and toast, a giant eagle owl swooped down and landed with a mighty plonk on the empty space next to her. Usually, the seat was inhabited by Ron, but he never got up early enough to eat breakfast on a Saturday, so it gave just enough room for the magnificent Eurasian eagle owl to land.

It released a brown package next to her fingers, heavy and rectangular. The owl preened its grey and white feathers, and Hermione, remembering her manners, reached over and gave him a slice of bacon. It nipped it from her fingers, nearly taking off flesh.

"Figures even his owl is a bully," she whispered.

The owl gave a little hoot in response, as if offended, ruffled its feathers, and took off to fly back to the owlery.

"That owl looks familiar." Ginny had one finger to her chin with a puzzled look to her tired eyes. Black rimmed the undersides, and Hermione knew she had another sleepless night of crying. "Who would be sending you packages?"

Hermione froze, at a loss. She had forgotten to make a cover story. The truth would be too strange. She hated lying to Ginny, but there was no way she could clarify without—

Ginny startled, straightening. She glanced at Hermione and in that one moment, Hermione knew there was no need to lie because Ginny already figured it out.

"Why is the king of ferrets sending you packages during breakfast?"

"I can explain—"

"You bloody well better."

Hermione looked down, unable to meet her best friends' eyes and pushed her leftover eggs around with a fork.

"We made a bet. These are his terms."

Ginny slammed her spoon down on the wooden table. Some second years further down the table silenced. It took several moments for normal conversation to commence.

"Have you lost all sense." Ginny whispered forcefully. "The first rule of Hogwarts is to never enter a bet with a Slytherin."

"Well, it's a little too late for that. We've entered two."

Ginny breathed hard through her nose like a bull. The tops of her cheeks had spots of red. When Ginny looked like this, a person must be careful.

"You need to start explaining before I hex you for being so irresponsible. What in the world could entice you to enter a bet with Draco Malfoy?" She held up a hand. "Wait… before we begin please, _please_ tell me you aren't shagging him."

"I'm not shagging him." Hermione said and Ginny deflated. "At least, not yet."


	6. Eat the Frog

**Song Suggestion**: AJR- "Weak"

**On Updates:** I'll be posting a new chapter every two weeks (usually on the weekend), until I finish writing the story, and then I'll increase the updates to once a week.

**Eat the Frog**

**Hermione**

It took ten minutes for Hermione to get the story out between bouts of yelling in whispers through clenched teeth. Ginny came alive for the first time all year, shedding her depression for a few moments to admonish Hermione.

"For the smartest witch of her age, you're acting fucking stupid. I can't believe you're even entertaining what he's asking."

Hermione groaned and rested her forehead against the table, the wood cool and hard against her flesh.

"I'm not sure what to do about it, or how I could have gotten out of it." Hermione lifted her head, viewed Ginny's sneer of derision and dropped it again, feeling despondent. "I have to get back the memories somehow, or Lucius gets free."

"It's not your fight anymore."

"It's always been my fight," Hermione snapped back.

Ginny's mouth shut tight, as if sucking down her next chastisement. Her eyes softened. Ginny saw the discrimination against muggleborns, she just didn't_ feel_ it. The hurt when a pureblood mother yanked her child away while walking down the street, as if her blood status was catching. The fury when denied help while in shops in Diagon Alley. The actions were little, but insidious, weaving into her experience in the magical world.

It was hard to explain what it was like to be hated just for existing, for residing in flesh deemed unacceptable. And men like Lucius led the charge. If he got free, there was no doubt he'd still manipulate the world into passing laws against her.

Draco was right, though it stung. The wizarding world held no love for her, despite being a hero. Not when the ministry itself ripped wands from innocent hands. Incarcerated whole families for the DNA running through their veins. Hermione refused to add Lucius Malfoy to the tally of freed villains.

"You're right," Ginny said. "I just—there has to be another way. The thought that you'd…" Ginny trailed off, and a small smile spread on her lips. "Though I've heard rumors. I'm not sure if they're true of not. Lavinia bragged she shagged him a broom closet. Told everybody it exceeded her expectations." Her eyes narrowed in a way that almost looked Slytherin. "So… is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"The rumors. How was the snog?"

Hermione felt betrayed. Ginny was supposed to be outraged and fighting in her corner, but the gleam in her eye told her she was far too interested.

"Ginny Weasley!"

"Oh, come on, don't be such a prude." Ginny stuck a finger at her nose. "I know you lost your virginity in fourth year. Earlier even than me, and I was the resident tart there for a while. Stop blushing and answer the question."

Hermione lost her virginity due to curiosity. She'd read about sex in her mother's romance novels. When Victor kissed her several days before the Yule ball and slipped his hand under her shirt, she didn't stop him. Neither did she stop him when he started taking off her clothes. It was short and painful, and Hermione decided it was a learning experience, but one she could live without if she had to. Hermione wasn't sentimental about it like some girls. Her subsequent one-night stands with her muggle neighbors were less painful but still underwhelming.

"I'd rather not talk about it." Hermione twisted her lips, remembering the fire under her skin, burning paths across her body.

"That good, huh?"

Ginny saw right through her. Hermione didn't answer, just stared at the package as if a dragon would pop out. She brushed the brown paper with her finger, dreading to know what Malfoy cooked up.

"Well that complicates things a little." Ginny frowned. "I would tell you to take him up on his offer. Live a little. Sleep with the bad boy and have fun. You deserve a little stress relief and adventure after all you've been through—"

"Ginny—"

"But Ron's in a bad place right now. I'm not sure if you two are together. I know you both have been on and off dating since the battle, but it doesn't matter. Having an affair with Malfoy, even if you and Ron don't work out, would devastate him. That's why I'm going to ask you to get rid of whatever Malfoy sent you in the rubbish bin. I'm begging you… no matter how much it hurts. End this now before he sucks you in more."

Hermione cleared a spot in front of her. She brought the package up from the seat next to her and plopped it on the table.

"It's heavy."

"Not a good sign." Ginny eyed the package with as much trepidation as Hermione. "So, are you going to open the damned thing or not?"

"Here goes nothing."

Hermione slid her fingers under the edges of the paper, and the magic holding it together vanished. The paper unfurled, revealing a book. But not just any book. She saw the details first: old leather, ancient, deeply embossed. The scent of dust wafted off it. The pages were yellowed and looked as if they would crumble upon touching, though Hermione knew spells wove through the pages, protecting it from disintegration or other types of ruin.

Hermione sucked in a gasp, not believing her eyes. Her finger reached out and touched the cover in reverence, tracing the golden letters.

"Merlin!" Hermione eyes snapped up to view Ginny who held a delicate, speckled hand over her lips. "Hogwarts, a History."

"It must be prehistoric," Ginny said with a groan.

Hermione flipped it open, loving the snapping sound of the spine, the hush of paper as it turned. Her heart almost stopped beating.

"It's a first edition." Hermione shut it and rested a hand on top, feeling a little woozy. "I can't throw this away."

"You have to," Ginny said. "You promised."

Hermione let out a pained groan, a terrible feeling ripping through her.

"You're right."

Hermione grabbed the book and cradled it to her chest as she stood and walked over to the bin, taking her time, dragging each step. She held out her hand, letting the book hover over its demise. Her insides crawled. Her chest seized up.

_Damn you_, Hermione thought, glancing up to view the Slytherin table, allowing herself to meet Malfoy's eyes—eyes she'd been avoiding the whole morning. He gripped his spoon in a white-knuckled grasp. He did not smile or frown or make any type of movement. Just lowered his gaze until his eyes seemed dark, daring her to do it.

If she dropped the book now, she'd be free of him. Free of his lips and stares. She wouldn't have to worry about his deals or the plots and plans he'd come up with. The fire would extinguish, the one that threatened to burn her if she grasped too long.

She wouldn't have to worry about doing what she feared, what she secretly wanted to do… Be weak. Be stupid. Be like every other girl falling for a boy she shouldn't.

Her fingers loosened and vomit jumped to her lips. She imagined the years emanating off the spine. Imagined the multitude of fingers holding it like she did now. How could she destroy something so precious? So rare.

She couldn't. Hermione snapped the book back to her chest, her breath heaving her ribs up and down as if she ran a marathon.

Hermione's gaze did not break from Draco as she did it. A slow smile curled up his lips, until she saw the rows of his perfect straight white teeth.

He won, and his gloating smirk did nothing but infuriate her.

_You'll regret this_, she mouthed to him.

_I hope I do_, he mouthed back.

Hermione gripped the book closer to her chest and staggered, walking almost running out of the great hall.

"Hermione!" Ginny called behind her. But Hermione was well ahead of her and ignored her on purpose.

"I'm sorry," she called back, not stopping to look back.

Hermione didn't stop until she reached her room. She set the book on her bed and then collapsed in a chair near the window, glaring at the godforsaken tome perched on her crimson coverlet for a solid hour before she broke.

"Curse him."

Hermione picked the marvelous book up, opened the spine, sat back down, and read until the stars twinkled in the night sky.

**Draco **

Draco waited next to the voyeur suit of armor. It kept turning his head, and Draco could swear it looked questioning, maybe even judgmental.

"She'll come," he told the suit. "She won't forsake her duties." _Or her end of the bargain_, he left out. Though Draco didn't know how he would enforce it if she decided not to. How did muggles keep promises or bargains without magic to cement it? All that held their bet together was a simple shake of pinky fingers.

Before he could overthink, her curly head bobbed down the hallway toward him. Her golden complexion warmed under the dim torch lights along the stone hallways.

"You're late," he said when she came to a stop in front of him.

"I'm here precisely on time."

To Hermione Granger, on time was late. She was dragging her feet, and he understood why. She owed him a kiss, and he intended to gather the payment.

"We'll start in the dungeons first and go up," he said. "We'll make two rounds. Sound good?"

Hermione didn't meet his eyes but gave a slow nod of her head.

**Draco **

Their shoes whispered against the stone, the only sound in the whole castle. The castle during the day was warm and bright, laughter echoing. During the night hours, Hogwarts transformed into something ominous, reminding him of death and graveyards. Screams haunted the halls, remnants of blood and death. Without children to distract from the details, the scars of the final battle become apparent: a scorch mark here, a chunk of stone missing there, a maroon stain that wouldn't come out.

Draco hated rounds for this reason. The memories bubbled to the surface, threatening to drag him to the past. Hermione seemed to like it just as much as he did. Her lips closed in a pinch, her fist closed by her side, her usual golden skin a shade paler.

"I think one round will be sufficient tonight," Draco said, breaking the silence.

"Agreed."

He organized this week of shared patrol to force them to interact. Her indifference twisted something inside him, turning and turning the screw down into his chest. He did not understand what exactly annoyed him, why it affected him so much. He just knew that he'd rather she scream at him in anger, throw curses in his direction. Instead, she stuck her nose in the air as if he wasn't there, as if he was nothing.

If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was being ignored.

He didn't love Hermione. He didn't even really like her. But for some reason he couldn't look away or leave her alone. The thought of him leaving Hogwarts without completing the bet was unthinkable. It was his last chance at a normal fling because the moment he graduated he'd be betrothed to Astoria Greengrass, Daphne's kid sister. The future seemed dimmer with each passing day.

He had a lot riding on this night, plans running through his head on what he'd say or do to catch her in the same net he was stuck in, but it all went to shit. He didn't expect the silence to choke him. He didn't expect the memories to pop up, becoming a hydra, sprouting another head if the first was cut away.

"You don't have to uphold your end of the bargain tonight."

She hurtled to a stop and glanced at him. They were near the room of hidden things, or as he later learned it was called, the room of requirement. The blaze of Fiendfyre scorched the innards even now. If he concentrated enough, he remembered the residual warmth spreading across his body, the sharp smell of burning flesh, the crackling of Crabbe's bones as they melted away.

"You're letting me out of the bet?"

"No," he answered. "It just doesn't have to be tonight."

"Why would you do that?"

He shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't like her Gryffindor twat friends, spewing feelings like vomit all over the place. He didn't want to get into the fact his memories made his chest tight, that he wanted to flee stones hallways closing in on him and be the coward everyone accused him of being.

Since the Final Battle, the darkness brought the terrors. He needed a nightly sleeping draught just to overlook the shadows in his room and slept with his wand lit like a first year.

He was so lost in his dark memories, he didn't notice the little witch had pulled her wand out and placed it under his chin, until he felt the wood poking a dent into his skin.

"Having your wand at my throat is starting to get repetitive." He sounded calm, though a shiver rattled through him.

"Maybe I just want to get it over with. Eat the frog—"

"Eat the what?"

"It's an American muggle saying," she explained. "Meaning to get the unpleasant task over with as soon as possible, so it doesn't linger and fester into something bigger than it is."

"I'm not sure—"

"Silencio!" Her wand slashed and his voice vanished into air, powerful enough it threatened to seize up his lungs and steal his breath as well. "No offence, but your voice is your least attractive quality."

Draco flicked his arm. The wand on the holster on the inside of his wrist shot to his hand, but it still wasn't fast enough, because she predicted this move.

"Incarcerous!"

Ropes flew and wrapped around his body, cinching tight. He wobbled on his feet, almost losing his balance. But he managed to remain standing. His wand clattered on the floor. She picked it up with a smirk and pocketed it.

_You little bitch_, he wanted to say, giving a glare so severe, he knew she understood it.

"Your problem, Malfoy, is after your first surprise move, you're rather predictable." She slashed her wand down hard. Cords of her magic wrap around his body, tighter even than the ropes. The magic gave off a feeling as if a hand ran down his bare skin, and it slithered into his chest.

_Fuck,_ he thought, feeling horrified, knowing she was using her magic to subdue his.

The spell she used linked them by the barest threads. Sharing magic like she just did was an intimate thing. More intimate than maybe she understood. He doubted she knew that this type of magic was typically reserved for married couples because it involved complete trust. Her using it this way was a faux pau to the wizarding world, a typical gaffe for a muggleborn like her.

What astounded him was she didn't utter any words, proving she knew how to produce non-verbal magic. _Powerful non-verbal magic._

He didn't have time to contemplate her magic because she walked away from him, and as if he was attached by a cord to her, he was tugged along, stumbling after until she reached a random door.

"Here we are." She reached out, opened it, and with a twist of her fingers, the cords of the magic flung him forward and into a broom closet.

Hermione entered after, the door shutting, and she lit the tip of her wand and shoved it in front of his face.

The tiny closet was empty except for an old portrait positioned the opposite way, a broken owl cage, and an old straw broom that gave a twitch every once in a while from an old charm.

The light cast a glow around her face. Her eyes darkened, dripping like amber honey, fringed by dark lashes.

"I have to admit this won't be so bad as long as you're silent. I used to have a small crush on you in first year." Hermione gave a smirk that could rival his. "You were always oddly handsome, though your appeal died when I realized you were a bigoted, egotistical prat." Her hand came up and brushed its way along the lines of his lips. The sensation made his whole body tighten.

She found him handsome at some point in time. This was news to him. She didn't exist to him those first few years, except as Potter's mudblood sidekick. The brain behind the success. He wondered what he'd think of her if she had been pureblood. Instead of being annoyed would he have been enamored? One thing was for sure, if she'd been pureblood, he would be engaged to her instead of Greengrass. A Malfoy always got the best.

Her lips hovered now close enough he felt tiny puffs of breath exiting her lips. He sucked in a breath as if to draw her forward.

"I'm only doing this because I have to." Her eyes were locked on his lips. "This means nothing, so I might as well have fun."

Lips brushed together. A tiny whisper. Soft and delicate as butterfly wings. Draco became stone.

Hermione pulled back and smirked, edging her bottom lip with her tongue, then she slammed forward, the force punching him backward and into the wall. The kiss became ferocious. She pulled at his robes, fingers threading through his hair. Her lips peppered his skin, his throat, his ear. She bit at his bottom lip and drew it into her mouth. The fit together as if they were fashioned by the gods to meld.

After a few seconds of shock, he met her intensity, walking forward, until he had her up against the opposite wall. The ropes vanished and so did the silencio, he realized when he let out a groan. Her legs went up and wrapped around his waist just as his arms curled to her back and brought her forward pressed hard against him. He had never felt something so intense, as if he just drank unicorn blood, floating in the clouds. Her mouth opened allowing him inside, her taste minty and clean. He'd drink her if he could.

Heat warmed through their clothes, an ancient call, urging him to remove the items in the way and reach completion. His hand slid against her bare thigh under her skirt, slowly, slowly stopping a fingertip reach from the outline of her underwear. He'd bet they were white and cotton. Simple. Pure. Just like her.

She pulled back, breaking their lips a part. She panted, resting her forehead against his. She kept her eyes closed, but he studied her features: the flush of color on her cheeks, her lips swollen and glistening.

"Fuck," he whispered, panting just as hard as her. "That was…"

This kiss was just as good as the last time. Better even. An addiction he already felt filtering through his veins.

He leaned forward to capture her lips again, but her fingers stopped him before the contact.

"Our deal was one kiss," she said. "And I've already paid. A simple price for a first edition Hogwarts, a History. I think I won this end of the deal."

He disagreed. He owned three first editions. He gave her the one in the worst condition, though he'd never tell her that. He won this round. She just didn't know it yet. He took assessment of their positions pressed against a wall, her fingers digging into his shoulder blades, thighs pressed against his hips. His bargain was a simple kiss, and she gave far more.

If it felt as good to her as it did to him, then he was already in her brain, infecting it, making her feel drunk and stupid and irresponsible. A magnet that could be tugged again until colliding. Especially when the rest of his plan went into motion.

He backed away as she wished and let his thumb wipe at the edge of his lip. He leaned into the opposite end of the closet.

"A little aggressive for someone who swore they'd never shag me."

She narrowed her eyes and walked forward. The cords of her magic still wrapped around him, except this time it didn't feel comforting, it felt charged. His own magic bubbled under his skin in response to the threat. It crackled around them. The broom in the corner began to sweep again, the charm reactivating from the energy in the air.

Her wand was back out and she tailed it down his cheek, her head cocked to the side as if assessing him anew. She did not look afraid or unsettled. She looked fierce, as if she could gut him if she wanted.

"Honestly Malfoy," she said. "It's just a simple kiss. I thought you were the _Slytherin Sex God_." She emphasized the title with a scoff, showing her derision of the moniker. She lowered her wand and shoved his own against his chest. He reached out and grabbed it, holding her fist in place against the bones covering his heart. She glanced at their joined flesh for a moment, before tugging her hand away with a sneer. "If you insist on these games, don't disappoint me."

Hermione reached over and opened the door and at the same time severed the magic around him. He almost gave a gasp at the sudden coldness. An emptiness. She twisted so hard, her hair flicked against his open mouth and exited, slamming the door behind him.

He leaned back against the stone wall, trying to regain his internal balance. What the fuck just happened?

It was most certainly _not_ just a kiss. If attacking unsuspecting blokes was the way she wanted to play this game, he could certainly find some better broom closets, at the least.


	7. Noticers

**Song Suggestion:** The Weeknd- "Wicked Games"

**Noticers**

**Draco**

"I'm not sure I want to do this. He likes Hermione."

Draco rolled his eyes at the brunette shifting from foot to foot in front of him.

"You've wanted that ginger parasite for years."

"Well, that was before… well, you know."

Draco huffed in exasperation. He finished the sentence for her: it was before Hermione Granger saved the entire fucking wizarding world and joined lips with her red-headed counterpart. It didn't help the witch standing in front of him idolized Granger to the point of lunacy.

"When was the last time you saw them together?"

"This morning."

"I mean _together_ together. Like a real couple."

Astoria Greengrass screwed up her mouth in thought.

_Don't strain you brain too hard_, Draco thought, tapping his foot with the wait.

"You haven't," he answered for her curtly. "Because they're only a couple so they don't hurt each other. Granger just needs a reason to ditch him."

"Did she say that?"

"She doesn't need to."

Astoria looked at him long and hard, deeper than he liked. She saw through everything. He never interacted with her much, resenting her since childhood, though he was glad he was betrothed to her instead of her vapid sister, Daphne.

"Why are you so interested in breaking them up?"

"That's my business."

Astoria crinkled her nose, finally understanding.

"We're going to be married in a years' time. A relationship with another woman _is_ my business."

"Make no mistake, little girl." He placed his hands behind his back, copying a move his father made when he wanted to threaten someone. "The marriage will be on paper only. We'll share a bed once a month. Go to events. But at the end of the day, I get to choose what I do with my time."

Her eyes widened, and then she burst out laughing. He contained his annoyance until she controlled herself.

"What do you find so funny?"

Astoria kept a little smile on her face.

"Hermione will never go for you."

The statement stung a little, but he made sure he didn't reveal anything on his face.

"Maybe she has already."

Astoria searched his features. Her green eyes bounced around. She didn't seem to like what she found.

"I'm meaning Hermione won't go for what you're wanting. She has more integrity than that. She'd have to be desperate."

Everything in Draco hardened. He clenched his teeth down until it hurt his jaw muscles.

"Then I'll _make _her desperate." He said, voice low. A threat, a promise. "And If you get in my way, I'll make you regret it." He reached out and grabbed the engagement ring on her finger and twisted it around. It was a Malfoy heirloom, enchanted so the wearer did whatever the head of household wanted. He didn't plan on using his power, but he might if she pushed him into a corner. "You don't have much of a choice."

Astoria stepped backward, pulling her hand away, showing her reluctant acceptance. In the end, she wouldn't fight him on this. It was bred into her from birth. A pureblood wife only had one path in life and making an enemy of her future husband would only make her life miserable.

The action eased up the tension in the air. The chit idolized Granger, long before she should have. It only went one way, since Granger probably didn't even know she existed.

Last year, he'd been ordered by the Carrows to search all the Hogwarts dorms. To his surprise, he found a picture of the Golden Trio magicked to the top of Astoria's bed, hidden by a poorly executed glamour. It was a shock to his system that the little pureblood princess, his future wife, was a fan girl of the three people he hated the most.

He burned the photo before the Carrows found it, saving her life. She should've been grateful, though she never said a word of thanks.

Assuming the conversation was done, he twisted to turn away, but one delicate hand on his forearm stopped him. He turned to view Astoria's vibrant green eyes. They were widened and pleading.

"Don't hurt her," she said. "She's been through enough."

"I'm not in control of her feelings." He brushed her hand off and took a step away, but then thought better of it and turned back around. "Though hurting her is not my intention, if that makes you feel better."

He could tell by her sudden frown it only worried her more. He shrugged and walked away, attempting to shove away the odd guilt that plagued him.

**Hermione**

Hermione shut the book, letting out a little dust, making her sneeze. Old books gave her allergies, despite her love. Her eyes already watered, and her throat itched, but it was all worth it to read the first edition of Hogwarts, a History.

She placed her forehead to the book with a deep sigh and then stood and unfurled herself. Walking to her purse, she opened it and lovingly placed the book inside.

She was stalling. Tonight, she had patrols with Malfoy again, and there was no way she could avoid it.

Except for classes, Hermione locked herself in her room all day away from her friends, especially Ginny. Just her and her books, wishing it was always like that. People were too messy and complicated. Books were easy: a beginning, an end, and a middle that could fit within a certain number of pages. Hermione could love and grieve in the safety of ink. Reality was too painful and hard.

The kiss still burned her lips. She only did it to fulfill the terms of the deal. Nothing more. Nothing less. Clinical, without emotions, as if prescribed by a doctor.

But the world turned upside down with her dangling inside it. Ron's kiss left her empty; Draco's kiss spilled everything out of her. And Hermione didn't understand why.

She assumed it had to do with his blond hair that fringed his grey eyes in just the right way. Maybe it was his crooked smirk. Or the appeal of the forbidden.

Ultimately, she understood it to be the danger, the adrenaline rush of living one second from disaster. She risked her life every day since she was eleven. The world rebalanced, but now there was no late-night excursions around the castle. No evil wizards to destroy. Hermione didn't know what to do with the emptiness, the lack of purpose. It festered, growing steadily since the Final battle.

Kissing Draco was the first time she felt anything in a long time, like flicking her finger through the fire of a candle, knowing a moment slower would burn.

However, Ginny was right. No amount of adrenaline rush was worth hurting Ron.

Hermione firmed her resolve and straightened her clothes.

**Hermione**

"I don't want to talk," Hermione said when she saw Draco leaning against the stone wall next to the charmed suit of armor. It creaked its head when she arrived as if saying, _Finally, you took forever._

Draco rested with one leg bent with his hands in his pockets. His hair was combed, but a few locks escaped and hung in front of his eyes. He wore his dress robes, looking pretentious and unapologetic about his wealth. On anyone else, his outfit would look out of place and stupid, but somehow, he managed to pull it off. Hermione reasoned it was a mixture between money and unfair genetics. Anything looked good if you paid enough for it.

Hermione hated how stupidly, disgustingly handsome he always looked. It would be far easier to dismiss him if he were ugly. Instead as she walked closer, her stomach clenched with nerves as he gave his crooked smirk, his eyes melted silver under the flickering torch lights lining the hallway.

"Don't worry," he answered. "I'm not sure I like the sound of your voice either. I prefer when your lips are engaged in more _vigorous _activities."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'm tempted to silencio you again."

"Sounds like foreplay."

She flicked her wand in warning. He raised both hands in mock surrender and walked past her down towards the dungeons. He glanced over his shoulder.

"Let's start in the snake den."

**Hermione**

To Hermione's great relief, they didn't talk much, except for technical matters. They caught a second year Hufflepuff trying to make his way to the kitchens. She should have given him a detention, but the sight of his widened green eyes, peeking out behind glasses reminded her too much of Harry. When she let him go back to his dorm room with just an admonishment, Draco raised one eyebrow. She saw the thoughts behind his eyes, as if reading a reel of script.

"It was his first offense," she explained.

"I didn't say anything."

"You don't have to."

"We know each other that well, don't we?"

Hermione pulled back in disgust at the suggestion.

"_No_, we don't."

Draco just quirked his other eyebrow, as if to say she was ridiculous.

"We don't know anything about each other," she explained, wanting to squish the idea before it took root. "Most of my life I've hated you. We've barely said anything to each other without it being an argument or an insult."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"That doesn't mean anything. How could we not know each other? We've been in each other's lives since age eleven."

"Then what's my favorite dessert?" Hermione crossed the arms on her chest, allowing her chin to tilt in the air.

"That's easy," he said. "Cauldron Cakes."

Hermione once had been in a minor car accident. Her body snapped forward and then backward, unable to comprehend anything with the shock. His words gave her a similar feeling.

"How did you know that?"

"You practically shove them down your throat like an uncouth heathen when you get them in Hogsmeade. It's truly a disgusting display. How could I not notice?" He examined her for a second. "Stop looking at me as if I'm some sort of stalker. You know the same things about me. Just try it. How do I like my tea?"

Hermione didn't have to think long, because he was right—she knew the answer. She hated that she knew the fucking answer.

"You don't like tea. You only like hot cocoa."

"See, it's just we're similar people in the end. Noticers, I call us. We see the details about people and things." His eyes turned downward. "We just use the information for different ends. For example…" He tapped her arm once with his pointer finger. "You want to categorize and analyze your environment so you can put it into neat little boxes you can tuck away and understand, no matter how futile."

"And what do you use the details for, if not to understand?"

Draco reached out and tucked a curl behind her ear, tracing his finger under her jaw before dropping his hand.

"I use the details to get what I want."

A chill zipped through her, though she didn't know if it was from anticipation or fear. She licked her lips and saw Draco follow the movement with a hungry look. He was tall compared to her. He towered above her, making her feel miniscule. She had to arch her neck to see him, and then regretted looking up because his head bent to meet hers. Hermione swallowed the lump forming in her throat, just as Draco edged closer, tilting his head to the side. It was easy to read his expression. He wanted to kiss her again. And he would succeed soon unless she did something to prevent him.

"You're breathing fast," he whispered, sensing her reluctance. "Your wand is out, but it isn't in a defense position. Your eyes are widened, mouth slightly open, face up to meet my own. A position of readiness. You want this as much as I do. And why shouldn't you? What's the harm in indulging for once? Tell me… when was the last time you did something _you_ wanted? Not for Potter. Not for Weasley. Not for the fucking wizarding world. Just you. Something fun, for the thrill of it?"

She wished to cover her ears and scream to drown out his blatant manipulation. Because he was fucking right again. She couldn't remember the last time she did something truly fun. It wasn't fair that most of her youth had been spent terrified, unsure if she'd make it to the next birthday. Grief and horror lingered in her spirit. A walking zombie, since Harry's death. Something in her yearned to feel alive again. To live for herself for the first time in years.

His hand went back to her cheek and lingered. She gave a gasp at the contact, every nerve standing at attention.

"I'm dating Ron." She said. The words gave just enough jolt to remind her of consequences.

"He doesn't have to know."

"But _I _would know."

"That's half the fun."

"Fuck you," Hermione said, letting her frustration burst through. "Get off me."

She went to fling off his hand but ended up letting her hand rest on top of his. Draco looked at their joined flesh, letting his damn perfect teeth glint in the flickering light.

"Then dump the tosser. I'll wait."

"I wouldn't—"

"Why not? It's not as if you _really _like him."

"How dare you. Of course, I love—

He snorted with suppressed laughter.

"You love him. It's just not enough, right? He bores you too much. His idea of intelligent conversation is listing the Chudley Cannons roster verbatim. You try to force it, but the truth is you don't want him to push you against a wall like this." He gave a small shove to her body, and her back landed against cold stone. "And when he leans over and whispers into your ear, you don't want to pull him closer." His lips brushed her ear, his breath hot against her skin. Every hair on her arm raised. "Deny it, Granger, and I'll stop right now."

_Stop him_, her mind begged, but her limbs froze to her sides. Her traitorous body refused to do what her conscious required. His lips hovered an inch from her own, all the while she wondered how she ended up this close to him in the first place.

A giggle interrupted them. Hermione breathed out a sigh of relief, using the distraction to her advantage. She pushed against his chest, feeling the hard lines of muscles in his abdomen. He was strong enough to resist her refusal if he wanted, but his body stepped back with the light push of her hand.

"Someone is out of bed," she said in a breathy voice.

A frown formed on his face, and he ran a hand through his blond hair.

"Right," he said. "Well, this one I'll handle, and they won't get off easy."

He twisted and flicked his wand out, a lumos already illuminating the tip. It glowed down the hallway. The giggles guided them, leading them to a small darkened alcove near the first-year charms classroom.

It was two students, she realized. A brunette girl had her legs wrapped around a person she assumed was a boy based on the shadow of his body. It was hard to see because there were smushed together like play-doh, making little grunts and groans. The boy's fingers were clinched into the back of the girls expensive looking robes.

"All right, funs over." Draco said.

It was like a lightning bolt stuck between them. The girl startled and bounced away as lithe as a cat. She brushed her mused hair from her face, and Hermione recognized the Greengrass' sister.

"Hermione Granger," the girl gasped. "It's not what it—"

"What the fuck," Hermione said, finally noticing the other occupant of the darkened alcove.

Ron looked dazed with his red hair pulled in different directions. His robes hung off his shoulders, and his tie was loosened. A few buttons gaped open.

"My, my my, what do we have here?" Draco said, voice on the edge of laughter. "How… serendipitous—"

"Shut up, Malfoy." Hermione seethed.

"You know, I was planning on dispensing the punishment, but it would be far more entertaining to see you do it, Granger."

Ron's face took the surprise slower. His eyes widened, taking her in then Malfoy and then the Greengrass girl.

"Mione. It's not what it—"

"Can everyone stop fucking saying that. I think it's _exactly_ what it looks like." Magic crackled around her body as it did when she was unable to control her emotions, as if magic spilled out of her pores with the excess energy.

Hermione tried to cauterize the pain. It hurt more than she thought possible. Her logical mind wanted to tell her she'd been in this exact position not but moments before.

_But you were going to deny him_, her mind tried to reason. _You were going to push him away_.

_Was I_?

She feared the answer. In the end, she didn't care if she was hypocritical. She never cheated. Not really. She was coerced into both kisses. But Ron's betrayal was real, without motive or reason.

"Now Hermione. Think before—"

Too late. Hemione already had her wand out. Ron raised his hands.

"I didn't mean—"

"Petrificus Totalus."

Ron froze. His body tipped like a felled tree backwards, landing against stone wall at just the right angle so he wouldn't fall. Then she twisted around, feeling herself snarl, and aimed her wand at Astoria.

The poor girl's lips trembled, and tears welled in her eyes.

"Please…" she begged pathetically. "I—I didn't want—" Her voice cut off, as if she couldn't speak anymore, the words stolen from her mouth. She fidgeted with a ring on her right hand.

Hermione breathed out hard and squeezed her eyes shut, allowing the anger to sift through her before releasing it.

It wasn't the girl's fault, as much as she wanted to blame her. Even if Astoria threw herself at him, it was Ron's responsibility to deny her.

Ron had issues since Harry's death. He drank himself into stupors. He skipped classes, using his status as a war hero to get a pass on academics. He involved himself in all sorts of risky, foolish behavior. She just didn't realize he cheated on her. Did he do it before? Did the whole school know, laughing at poor stupid Hermione behind her back, too blind to see what was going on all along? And all this time, she felt _guilty _about the kisses Malfoy stole from her. Ginny was right: for being the smartest witch of her age, she was being fucking stupid.

"Was this the first time?" Hermione's voice came out like iron.

"First and only." Greengrass answered as soft as a bird.

"Leave… before I change my mind and inflict some sort of pain."

The girl scurried off, giving her an odd devastated look over her shoulder before disappearing around the bend of the hallway. With the silence, the anger inside her only built. The torch lights around her flickered.

Draco glanced at them, as if just realizing the strangled energy in the room.

"Should I toss the wanker out the window," he said. "Or do you want to do it yourself?"

"If you don't shut up and let me think, you'll be the one tossed out the window."

He didn't say anything back, just relaxed against the nearest wall, one leg bent, looking far too smug. He gave a faux sigh, as if now bored, and glanced at his nails.

"Just make it quick. As much as I enjoy seeing Weasley get what he deserves, I still would rather be in my bed."

Hermione walked forward. Her anger melted into a calm that rested on the edge of a blade.

"Finite Incantatem." The spell holding Ron frozen released. He gasped in a breath, clutching at his throat, giving a few hoarse coughs.

Draco rolled his eyes at the dramatics from the corner.

"Fuck, Hermione," Ron gasped. "That nearly froze my lungs as well."

Hermione found she didn't care as much as she should.

"You have two minutes to explain." She held her wand at her side, though she could raise it a moment's notice. "If you fail to deliver a reasonable explanation then I'll throw you out the nearest window like Malfoy suggested."

Ron gulped, giving a piteous expression that would normally break her, though it was ruined by the sight of a small trail of red lipstick smeared near the corner of his lips.

_Fucking bastard_, her mind seethed.

"You wouldn't—" He began.

"Test me."

He must have decided he wouldn't and raised both hands in defense.

"I didn't mean for it to happen. The girl jumped on me out of nowhere. I had to catch her."

"Did you kiss her back?"

"Well…" he trailed off. "I couldn't help it. It didn't mean anything. You caught us nearly at the beginning, I promise."

Hermione suddenly didn't want him to speak. She didn't want to see his wide, dumb expression, not even able to lie convincingly to save his own skin. There was no answer that would satisfy her anyway. There was too much anger, hurt, and guilt to think clearly. She needed to end this before she snapped and used a few unforgiveables.

Hermione grew quiet. Ron continued to talk, getting more animated and frantic as he went, but she no longer listened, turning into herself, making her mind the refuge, until she couldn't stand the background noise anymore. She raised her wand again.

"Stupefy."

Ron didn't even have time to be surprised. The spell slammed into him, and this time Ron tipped forward, slamming into the ground with a small crack. Probably breaking his nose. Hermione had a moment of creeping guilt before twisting around and walking in the other direction, intending to leave him where he lay until the spell wore off.

"So violent," Draco taunted. She heard the scuffle of his boots following her.

"One more step, Malfoy and I'll show you the same kindness. The patrol is over tonight, so leave me alone."

The shuffle stopped, and she walked out of sight, not even turning around to see if he did as she threatened. She walked for ten steps before turning back around. She glared at the darkened hallway, her mind clicking along. Something didn't feel right. She just needed to find out what.

She sent a spell to her feet, erasing the noise of her shoes clunking against the stone. It was something she learned while living in the tent with Harry, preparing for the final battle. She inched along the corridor until she reached the bend in the hallway.

Draco was crouched down next to an unconscious Ron. He reached out and threaded his hands through Ron's red hair and yanked his head up in a rough movement. Ron made no move that he felt pain or knew what happened to him. Hermione almost moved to help him but stopped herself wondering what Draco would do next.

"I'm going to fuck your girl soon, Weasel," Draco taunted. He gave a little smirk, dripping with malice. "I hope to say it to your face one day. But for now, thanks for being predictable and making it easy."

He gave a little laugh and dropped his head without care, letting it smack hard again against the ground. He gave another little laugh as he stood and walked away the other direction.

Hermione stayed in the darkened hallway, staring at Ron's unconscious body for a long time. Something in Draco's sentence itched her brain, begging her to solve a puzzle.

And she would. But for now, she tucked the words in her memory to dissect later.


	8. Controlling Fiendfyre

**Song Suggestion:** Bryce Fox- "Horns"

**A/N:** Sorry about the late update. I had to get my wisdom teeth out. Remind me to NEVER get teeth pulled again. I prefer labor pain over that shit. Leave a review to make me feel better (as I plead with chipmunk cheeks)

**Hermione**

**Controlling Fiendfyre**

The next day Hermione walked into defense class. She usually sat by Ron. He was in the corner, both eyes black and his nose crooked. Keeping a wound like that in the wizarding world was pure masochism. He just wanted her to see it. Wanted her to feel either guilt or forgiveness. Hermione just turned up her nose and ignored it, refusing to feel anything. If men wanted to be stupid, she wasn't going to stop them anymore.

Ron scooched sideways showing he saved her a seat. Instead, she stomped over to Luna and slipped in the seat, turning her back on Ron. Luna looked sideways, eyes glassy and wide as if she never blinked.

"We'll be dueling today," the blond girl said.

"Where did you hear this?"

"From the blibbering Humdingers. They haven't stopped buzzing about it since I've woken up."

Sometimes Hermione worried about her friend's sanity. In the muggle world, she'd be getting psychiatric help. In the wizarding world, she was just quirky, possibly descended from seer blood.

Hermione never had as much patience for the made-up mythical creatures as Harry did. But since his death, she found that Luna was the person she liked to be around the most. If an aura could have a color, Luna's would be light blue, the color of the sky.

Malfoy walked in next with his hair combed, setting off the sharp bones in his face. He looked so much like his father when put together, it made her throat dry. The images came without warning of Lucius moving over Kadilila, little gasps and moans.

Hermione shook her head, but it did not help. She wondered—would Draco commit the same sins as his father if pressured? Hermione wasn't sure what all occurred at the Death Eater revels. She heard rumors—mass rape, tortures, and horrific murders. Did Draco attend? Did the little pureblood princeling take part?

The dark thoughts swirled around her as she watched him sit next to Gregory Goyle, who somehow managed to get a spot in the class. Draco leaned back in his chair, comfortable in his place in this world, a feeling she could never emulate no matter how hard she tried.

The words he whispered to an unconscious Ron pecked at her. Something wasn't right. He'd been far too smug, as if everything worked out exactly the way he wanted.

Ron deserved her anger, and something inside her told Hermione that Malfoy deserved her anger as well.

Professor Rosewood wandered in last. He was a small man resembling a young Snape. It always made her do a double take, except the man's demeanor was a foil to her old professor. Where Snape had been prone to criticism, Rosewood handed out praise like candy. Where Snape entered like a storm, Rosewood greeted the class with a cheerful smile.

There was something about his smile that lingered, as if trying to mooch off their celebrity. He gave Ron free passes, which was the only reason he didn't fail. He tried to indulge Hermione, but she never allowed it. Surprisingly, Malfoy didn't either, despite the Defense teacher tripping over himself to please the Malfoy heir.

Rosewood set his satchel on the desk and beamed at the class.

"Today I have something very special planned."

He made a few complicated wand movements, muttering under his breath. The table behind him morphed by lengthening and widening, two circles on either end, adding stairs to both sides. "We'll be dueling each other. The winner will take a once in a lifetime trip to Romania for the opening ceremony of the newest dragon sanctuary. He or she will be joined by myself and the sixth year and seventh year winners. It will be a prestigious event, including many ministry officials and foreign diplomats. A perfect opportunity to network before entering into the workforce next year."

The class gasped. Greed spiked among her peers. A free vacation and networking. Even Hermione's spirit salivated at the thought. The instant desire crashed over her, and she tightened her grip on her wand. Networking opportunities for a muggleborns were slim. Even with an Order of Merlin, it still might be difficult to find a job. The economy plummeted after the war, and the ministry worked furiously to stabilize it. In the meantime, many companies refused to hire new employees.

Hermione turned to Luna, who looked out the window with a dreamy expression.

"The blibbering humdingers were right."

"They always are," Luna answered back.

**Draco**

Draco watched Hermione from the corner of his eyes, following her every movement, though she didn't notice it. The bint was determined to turn up her nose at him. Women never made any sense. She acted as if he planned the whole thing.

Well, to be fair… he did plan the whole thing, but there was no way for her to know it.

Professor Rosewood placed a chart on the opposite wall. He divided all the names on either side, pairing each student off with another. Whoever won would advance to the next round and fight the winner, until only two opponents were left.

"Remember class," Rosewood mentioned with a nausea-inducing smile. "No dangerous curses. Keep it simple and clean."

Draco snorted, glancing at Weasley. Sure, simple and clean.

Greg and Pansy faced off first. The blundering brute was a surprising quick draw, but he fumbled around women. Pansy drew her wand and disarmed him without even a fight. Greg shrugged and stepped off the stage. Draco wasn't sure if Goyle had one competitive bone in his body. Crabbe had always been the aggressive one. Without his counterpart, Greg lost his bluster and claws, as docile as a teddy bear.

Hermione and Finnegan went next. The Irish half-blood gulped, almost sweating, looking at his opponent.

"Be merciful," he said in a joking tone.

The fear proved substantial. When Seamus threw an Expelliarmus, Granger threw up a shield so powerful, the spell rebounded, embedding his wand into a wooden desk, just barely missing Luna Lovegood. Everyone stopped and glanced at the wand. Even the professor seemed a little stunned.

"Are you alright, Luna?" Hermione asked, stepping off the stage.

"The nargles are rattled, but I'm fine."

Lovegood was always good for a laugh. He almost said something insulting out loud—Honestly, why shouldn't he? The girl brought it on herself. But as if sensing his imminent comment, Granger shot him a fierce look, and Draco swallowed what he was about to say. Making fun of her friends, no matter how easy, would only make the witch close her legs tighter.

The duels went quick. Nobody gave much of a challenge. He got Macmillan as an opponent and dispatched him with a well-placed Stupefy. _Child's play_, he wanted to say out loud. His aunt Bella trained him. In place of Expelliarmus and Stupefy, their duels involved Imperios and Crucios. On the worst day, she commanded he kill a puppy, attempting to make him less of a coward. Instead of an Avada, he vomited on her shoes and woke up three days later, the aftereffects of a Crucio still zapping his cells with lingering agony. Despite that, he did absorb most of her lessons.

Draco didn't pay attention to the duels as they went along, and neither did most other people as they practiced wand movements in the corner, until Hermione stepped onto the stage again, facing off against Ronald Weasley. The entire class froze, eyes glued to the stage.

With Finnegan, she almost looked apologetic. This time Hermione glowered at the redhead. The magic sparked out of her wand.

"Now, Hermione," Ron said. "Why don't we talk before—"

"Be quiet."

If no one else realized there was trouble in golden paradise before, they did now. Heads bowed together, and whispers buzzed from lips into ears, a hushed noise that became loud like insects chattering to the night.

"Are you ready?" Rosewood asked. He glanced between the two war heroes with eyebrows furrowed, realizing something soured in the relationship. "If you want, we can set you up with new partners."

The offer made Draco grate his teeth. The bootlicker plucked every nerve in his brain.

"No, thank you. I'm looking forward to this," Hermione said and got into position for the duel. One leg forward, arm up, wand ready.

Ron had no choice but to copy the stance.

"Just to warn you, Hermione. I'm not going to go easy. I need that trip as much as you."

Draco placed a hand over his lips to suppress his laughter. As if that brain-dead wizard could ever even land a curse against Granger. It was truly the stupidest thing that ever exited his mouth, and that was saying something because the level of stupidity exiting the Weasel's mouth daily made Draco wonder how he survived to adulthood.

"_Please_, do give me your best, Ronald." Hermione taunted.

Rosewood looked back and forth, as if wondering how to stop the train wreck about to happen. Giving up, he raised his own wand.

"Alright, let's begin."

Both the opponents went through the formal introductions of a wizard duel, bowing to each other before making their way to the circles and returning to their former combative positions.

The Weasel chucked a surprising number of curses—Petrificus Totalus, Confundo, Stupefy. They landed with little whacks against a Protego Hermione threw up.

Ron appeared winded. Using too much magic zapped a person of strength, and it appeared the idiot used up his stores for the first sudden shots.

When Ron looked on the verge of collapsing, the burnt smell of sizzling spent magic in the air like a cloying smoke, Hermione allowed the shield to dissipate.

"Now it's my turn, and I hope you see the irony." She pointed her wand, face set with determination.

Yellow sparks exited her wand, transforming in mid-air into yellow birds. A whole flock of them, so numerous, all that could be seen was a cloud of yellow and white zooming toward Ron.

Weasley threw up his hands in front of his face and gave a low scream just in time. The birds swarmed his head, thick enough Draco only saw little flashes of red hair. Ron stumbled backward and off the stage. The birds went with him.

"Fuck Hermione," he writhed on the ground. "Get 'em off me! I give up"

Hermione only glared at him, until Rosewood looked ready to intervene, and grudgingly she swished her wand and the flock of birds vanished.

Welts and bloody spots dotted the skin on his face. Nothing serious enough for the hospital ward, but serious enough to show her discontent. Draco pushed down a smirk at the sight. Nothing made him happier than seeing the Weasel in various stages of pain.

**Draco**

As the minutes ticked along, Draco glanced at the scoreboard with growing unease. Hermione just won her last duel against Luna Lovegood, leaving her the victor on the left side. All he had to do was defeat Pansy, and he'd win the right side. And then they'd have to face off.

Pansy was an easy challenge. She was quick and fierce, but she was predictable, always using the same three spells. She tended to twist her wand to the left, making it hard to block for someone who wasn't expecting it.

But he was expecting it, so when Pansy curved her spell, he stepped out of the way just in time and hurled a simple Expelliarmus, taking a page out of Potter's book.

Pansy wand clattered on the floor.

"How dare you." She stomped a delicate foot. "I demand a redo."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Pansy, dear," he rolled the word on his tongue, "You know the rules."

There was a time where he would try to placate her tantrums, back when she used to suck his cock every night. But since kissing Granger, Pansy's wet mouth no longer made him hard, which frustrated him. The only way he got off was by imagining it was Granger's doe eyes staring up at him, sliding in and out of her rose lips. He stopped allowing her in his bed when the experience began to leave him unsatisfied, and Pansy hadn't gotten over the slight yet.

As expected, Pansy huffed in outrage, but she walked off the stage, even while stomping her foot again and nearly growling like a feral animal. Pansy's tantrums were a sight to behold, with thrown objects and screaming at the top of her lungs. Her father gave her everything she ever wanted, and she expected life to pay her in kind. When it didn't, she raged and tore through anything in her path.

But she knew her place. He was the king in her world. He could fuck up her future if he wanted. Blacklist her so that she couldn't find a suitable husband. Dig up things on her family. He could ruin her, much like he could with most of the people in the room.

As soon as Pansy stepped off, the scoreboard dinged, eliminating Pansy's name. The last names on the board glowed golden. The click of shoes echoed in the room as Hermione scaled the steps and placed herself in the middle of the opposite circle.

"Do you need a moment to recover, or do you want to begin right away?" Rosewood asked him.

Draco considered the question. He needed to be at his full strength to defeat Hermione. He doubted she'd be dispatched by a simple expelliarmus. Neither did she play by any pattern he could easily see. She varied her spells. She could curve spells both ways and was ambidextrous with her wand hand, though she preferred her left.

And she could perform non-verbal magic, which is the greatest threat she posed. The only thing she seemed to rely on heavily was using a shield charm, allowing her opponents to exhaust their magic before striking.

Backing down now would seem weak, and in truth he wasn't that tired, having only thrown a few curses at full strength.

"No, I'm ready."

"You'll need to be because I'm looking forward to this," she said.

A sizzle of discomfort shot through Draco at the threat.

He didn't care about the dragons. He mingled with ministry officials and top dignitaries at his mother's parties. He could have any job in the wizarding world upon graduating, if he desired. No, he didn't care about Romania. He only cared about winning for once in his fucking life since Potter wasn't here to steal his glory, and he wasn't going to give that up, even for Granger.

"As you know, I'm always up for a challenge." He gave a smirk, letting her know he wasn't just speaking of the duel.

She tightened the hold on her wand, until her knuckles turned white, until he could see tiny blue veins running under her skin, ferrying her dirty blood around her body.

They both walked forward. She gave a stiff bow, and he matched it, catching and keeping her eye the whole time.

She wanted Romania. The desire of it could be scented like perfume. And he understood why. Prospects in the job market were grim right now. Even Hermione Granger, top of her class, war hero, swot extraordinaire, might have issues finding employment.

He walked back to the circle and got into position.

"Begin," said Rosewood.

Draco threw an expelliarmus as a tester. The red light zoomed and then deflected against Hermione's Protego, bouncing over Draco's ducked head and smashing into a wall. The shield charm extended around her body and stayed there as she chanted under her breath, an impressive feat of magic, despite the look of simplicity. It was easy to produce a Protego; it was hard to hold one for more than a few seconds.

It would also drain some of her magic.

Draco, knowing there was nothing that could penetrate the charm before him, lowered his wand. Her other opponents tried to slam against it, but why waste the energy?

It took Hermione ten seconds for her to realize he wouldn't be baited. The shield flickered, then died, and that's when he stuck for real, throwing a stinging hex. Her instincts made her twist just out of reach.

"Confundo," she shouted back, but he put up a shield just in time. When it flickered down, she screamed. "Levicorpus." The spell swerved to the right, and he dodged it.

It was time to remind Granger that he was no simple child, that the dark mark still inked his skin.

"Silencio!" He raised his wand as if to aim to the right, but at the last second threw it a little left. The spell exited his wand and hit her in the chest, cutting her off in the middle of speaking. She glared, shutting her lips together.

She could produce non-verbal magic, but non-verbal magic took its toll and was much harder to conjure. The only way he could win was to steal her voice.

"Now let's see what you're really made of." He taunted. "Stupefy!" The spell cracked in the air.

Hermione dropped and flattened her body out of the way, as the light whooshed over her head. From the ground position, she narrowed her eyes and outstretched her wand.

The bolt of light hit him before he could stop it. His wand forcefully exited his hand and clattered to the floor, rolling to the side and stopped just before rolling off, which would have disqualified him.

Relashio, he realized, a spell that caused a person to drop what they were holding.

Hermione scrambled forward. She reached for his wand, intending to knock it off the stage, but he got there first and picked it up in a smooth movement and pointed it at her curly head.

"Goodnight, Granger," he said. "Som—"

She barrel-rolled to the side, accidently hitting his legs, knocking him over. They scrambled up at the same time. He glanced at Professor Rosewood, his anger simmering inside him, wondering if he'd admonish Hermione for the infraction, even if accidental.

Rosewood met his eyes and shrugged. _Of course_, Draco sneered. He had a hard on for the Gryffindor princess. There was no way he'd get her in trouble.

Alright, thought Draco getting back into position and rolling his shoulders, if she wanted to cheat, he'd show her how to really bend the rules.

Hermione panted, standing back in her circle, wand at the ready. For a moment, they just stared at each other, warily, as if trying to determine how hard to push to win.

The seconds elongated until the tension snapped. The curses came hot and fast from both of them. Crack, crack, crack. They ducked and twisted, using shields in turns. Their spells clashed together and then sputtered out. Draco stayed on his toes, not knowing what would come next. He meant for Silencio to weaken her, but instead he handed her a weapon.

Because it didn't slow her or tire her, like he predicted. Her spells came just as quick, except now he didn't know what they would be.

A curse smashed into his chest. He cried out as his skin ballooned up and turned bright red. Something obscure enough, he didn't know how to counteract it. He threw up a Protego as another yellow spell sizzled against it, staring at his hand in horror. He could barely keep a hold of his wand as his hand enlarged. He cast a sticking charm to keep him from dropping it.

The wonder turned to anger as the skin on his arms began to hurt, as it swelled into giant blisters across his body.

"If you wanted to fight a little dirty, you should have said so from the beginning." He let down his shield charm. "Calvorio!"

Hermione's voluminous hair vanished on impact. She placed a hand on her bald head in shock, looking like a little shaved rat. The room let out a roar of laughter, and her cheeks flamed red in embarrassment, eyes lowering and darkening.

_It's my turn, _she mouthed.

She flung a curse. It lifted him off the ground and slammed him hard against the floor, pushing the air out of his lungs. It might have cracked a rib with the sudden, intense pain in his left side.

"Fuck," he groaned, twisting out of the way just in time as a blue spark whipped over his head. "You little bitch. That curse was illegal."

Semi-illegal. She flirted with the grey areas of magic. Where dark and light magic smeared together. If she wanted to explore that area, then he'd give her an education.

"Duro!"

The spell missed, but the intent hit home. She stared at the singe on the wall behind her with an open mouth, glancing back at him astonished. It didn't last long. The curse only poked a beast.

A red light zoomed by him. He knew if it had hit him it would have_ really _hurt.

The bitch needed to be taught a lesson. She needed to understand who she fucked with. She needed to see what a student of Bellatrix Lestrange could do.

"Reducto."

It dissolved in her shield charm. She quickly swiped her mouth with her wand, finally getting rid of her Silencio.

"That could have killed me, you prick." She sent a blast his way. The way it shattered the stone showed it was just as illegal as the one he threw.

"Then you need to duck quick," he said. "Expulso!"

The spell shattered her shield charm, though it took a great amount of his energy. He knew it wouldn't kill her. It was only to shock her, to let her guard down so he could land the lasting blow.

"Expelliarmus." Her wand hurtled in up in the air, in what must have been slow motion, before clattering against the stone ground.

The smoke around them cleared. The audience was silent as a graveyard. Draco lowered his wand, allowing a slow smirk to curl up his mouth, allowing the feeling of victory to overtake him. Pansy began to clap but died down when Hermione stepped forward through the smoke towards him. Her eyes were lowered, darkened. She did not look like a witch that recently lost a duel.

She had both hands raised up, palms to the ceiling.

"You think I need a wand to beat you?"

She twisted one hand, and his body levitated off the ground right as her magic linked them again. It slithered into his soul, wrapping around tight like Nagini before devouring her meal. Fear spiked inside him.

_Holy fuck_, he thought. She didn't just know how to perform non-verbal magic. She knew how to do _wandless_ non-verbal magic. The level of power that required. The level of skill… it was unimaginable. The only other wizards he knew that could perform non-verbal wandless magic with complex spells like these were Dumbledore and the Dark Lord himself.

He'd underestimated her. They all had underestimated her, even Potter. She could have been a weapon in the war. Instead she had been relegated to nothing more than a fucking sidekick.

She waved him forward. His toes dragged against the wooden stage until they stood nose to nose. Even bald, her features were striking, delicate. Mouth shaped like a bow, curved and pink. A spattering of sun freckles dotted her nose.

"And now, you'll hand me your wand."

His whole body shook trying to reject the command, but the magic tightened against his ribs, and his hand shot up on its own, dropping his wand into her outstretch fingers.

"I win," she whispered and flung her arm out. He slammed to the side, hurting into the crowd, bowling over Pansy and hitting a few desks before careering to a stop.

The crowd roared with the sight. Some yelling, some clapping. Even Rosewood gave a shout.

He stood up, every bone feeling broken and clutched his wand as if to use it. Greg's heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder, reminding him of where he stood and who watched. Retaliation now would only draw the professor's ire.

Rosewood took the stage.

"Spectacular show!" He beamed and then his smile died and then he frowned. "Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, will you both please stay after class."

**Hermione **

Hermione crossed her arms, waiting for the other students to exit the classroom. Draco slouched in a chair near her, nursing a few wounds. His skin returned to normal, the blisters deflating and turning back into alabaster, but she stayed bald. Hermione resisted the desire to run a hand over her silky head. She did not know the counter-curse yet so decided to act as if she didn't care. When, in fact, it left her feeling very vulnerable.

When the last of the classroom left, Rosewood motioned to an empty chair.

"Sit down, please."

It left no room for argument. She did not like him much, but she still respected him as a professor. Hermione sighed and tugged out a chair several feet away from Draco and sat.

"I'm not sure why she's here," Draco gave a jerk of his pointy chin towards her direction. "I won the duel."

"Did you?" She taunted.

"The rules of a duel state that if a witch of wizard is disarmed, they forfeit the match."

"That's just skewed by translation. In its original Gaelic, it states that a witch or wizard must lose his or her ability to defend themselves. As you can see, I'm perfectly capable to defend myself even without a wand."

Draco's mouth was open. She surprised him, threw him off guard. It happened so rarely; she allowed the pleasure of it to filter through her. What? Did he think she never studied Wizard duels? He seemed to almost respond when Rosewood cut in.

"You both won. One by cunning, the other by sheer talent. And I must say what a duel it was. The greatest I've seen in a long while." He put his hand out. Hermione shook it up and down. When he held his hand out to Draco, the Malfoy heir sneered distastefully, but in the end, shook the hand offered.

"So if we both win," Hermione asked, "Who gets the trip to Romania?"

"You will both join me, along with the other years' winners. However," he sighed as if pained. "I do have to punish you as well."

"Punish," Draco spat. It came out like a warning. Draco sat forward, uncrossing his legs. "What are we being punished for?"

"For using semi-illegal curses." Rosewood shook his head. "One of you could have gotten hurt. You're lucky I won't be involving your parents or the ministry. Lately, there's been a zero-tolerance policy for that type of wand work, and you're both considered adults now… But it's your choice in the end. Two detentions or the involvement of the ministry?"

Draco paled, and Hermione felt a rising panic strangle her insides. The wizarding world would love nothing more than the muggleborn war hero to stumble into the mud again. She knew that much about human nature to fear the response. And Draco… his image hung on by a thread, though a prince was more likely to be forgiven than the pauper. Hermione met Draco's eyes, and he nodded in agreement. He'd take the punishment, though it tasted like bitter medicine on the tongue. She nodded as well.

"Good. Meet me here by eight tonight. I have a special assignment for the both of you." They both got up at the same time and walked toward the door, in the same silent, contemplative mood.

As the ancient heavy door shut behind them, Draco turned on her and pushed her against an adjacent wall.

"You can do wandless magic," he said, a little breathless. "With complicated spells. That's just… that's… how did I not notice this until today?"

Hermione pushed at Draco's chest. He glanced at her splayed hand in wonder, as if reconsidering her worth. He did not move away and looked at her as if she was some new treasure he wanted to hoard away.

"You're not the only with secrets, Malfoy." She tilted her head to the side. "I know you've been up to something. You must think I'm a dumb bint like Pansy, as easy to manipulate as a Protego charm." Hermione cupped his chin in her hand, forcing them to lock eyes. Her thumb brushed along his bottom lip. He opened his mouth and caught her finger between his teeth, allowing the tip of his tongue to taste her flesh. "But I'm Fiendfyre. If you try and control me, I can just as easily turn around and burn you. Consider this a warning."

Hermione withdrew her hand, used a nonverbal spell to slide his body away, and walked away, not even looking back to catch his stunned expression.


	9. Quid Pro Quo

**Song Suggestion:** XXXTENTACION- "Moonlight"

**Thank you:** Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, fam! It really helps my fingers type faster. I can't believe I already have over 100 reviews! Sorry, I don't always respond, unless it's a direct question, because online interaction gives me anxiety sometimes. Am I the only one? Hazards of being an introvert, I guess. Just know I treasure each review.

**A/N: **Harry's death has a purpose to the story. It won't be as relevant now, since they are still at Hogwarts. But this story is basically an interpretation of how the wizarding world could turn out without Harry to influence it.

**Quid Pro Quo**

**Hermione**

Ron stood in front of the portrait of the fat lady, blocking her entrance. She had managed to ignore him during dinner, but she had no such luck now.

Hermione internally sighed, deciding she might as well rip the band-aid off now. She dreaded this conversation, knowing it would be filled with Ron's pleading blue eyes. A flush already crawled up his cheeks, filling in the spots between his freckles with bright red, though she didn't know if it came from shame or anger.

"I'm about to go to detention," Hermione said. "I'm not sure I have the energy for an argument."

Ron crossed his arms on his chest.

"I just need to explain." Like she predicted, his eyes grew big. That look always made her want to give into his pleas. Hermione hardened her heart.

"No explanation is needed. Not when I have a visual."

"I don't know what came over me. Honest, it was as if I was being compelled by magic."

"Are you suggesting you were under the influence of a love potion."

He scratched behind his ears.

"Yes—I mean, not really—well, I don't know. Why else would I have done it?"

A pair of second years arrived behind them. They chatted among themselves, acting as if they weren't listening, but all their ears were turned towards them. Whatever they said would be on the rumor train by the time she arrived in her room. Even the fat lady looked interested.

"You know why you did it."

Because Harry died. Because he didn't know how to handle his grief. Because he drank himself into a stupor at least once a week. Because a pair of active lips was an escape from reality.

"I'm sorry Ron, I understand. I really do. I'll always love you… it just might be as a friend."

"Are you… breaking up with me?" Ron asked with his mouth open.

Hermione thought about it.

"For now, yes, I am." Hermione sighed. "I'm just so… I need space and time to figure out how I feel about you."

Ron crossed his arms again, a flush deepening on his cheeks, though she knew this time it was from anger. He leaned down, whispering back so low only she could hear it.

"I'm going to convince you otherwise."

He stepped out of the way, allowing her to walk past and into the Gryffindor tower.

**Hermione**

Hermione swiped away at tears, wishing to hold it together, at least until she reached her room. When she opened her door and slipped inside, Hermione shuddered out a sob and then sucked it back in.

Ginny sat in her bed, legs dangling off the crimson coverlet, looking at her as sharp as Draco does. Hermione always thought the hat got it wrong with the youngest Weasley. The little redheaded firecracker belonged in Slytherin.

"How did you get into my room?"

She needed to reevaluate her wards.

"I heard you broke up with Ron again." Ginny stated like a gun blast, avoiding her question with a frown on her face.

"How in Merlin's name did you already hear about that?"

"Your underestimating how fast gossip spreads at Hogwarts."

Hermione gave a deep sigh, unshouldering her book bag and letting it sink to the floor.

"I normally wouldn't pay any attention to your back and forth relationship," Ginny said, "But you've been evading me." She glanced her up and down as if to glean the truth.

"No, I haven't. I've just been busy."

"No, you've been avoiding me, which means you've done something you shouldn't."

Pure Slytherin, through and through. Ginny always did look good in green. Hermione couldn't hide her expression. She'd never been much of a liar. There had never had an occasion she needed to, except when she impersonated Bellatrix at Gringotts, and that went ever so well. She wasn't sure what on her face gave it away, but Ginny gasped.

"You kissed him, you harlot!" Ginny threw a pillow, and Hermione dodged it.

"I had to! I couldn't throw away a first edition. It would be a crime. Besides—"

Ginny chucked another pillow. It hit Hermione in the stomach and bounced to the floor. They stared at each other for three seconds before bursting out laughing. They giggled until Hermione gripped the side of her ribs. It was all just so absurd. It felt good to laugh. She hadn't in such a long time and knew that Ginny hadn't either.

"I should be mad at you—Honestly, kissing Draco Malfoy!—but I'm much too curious." Ginny's eyes sparkled. "So did it live up to expectations?"

Hermione walked over to the chair near the window and sunk into its comforting embrace. She covered her face with her hands and groaned.

"It earned top marks."

Ginny sighed and collapsed on the bed, staring at the ceiling with arms stretched out.

"I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to live vicariously through you. The adventure. The adrenaline. Merlin, I miss it."

"Then why not have an adventure of your own?" Hermione asked.

Ginny startled back as if slapped. Hermione regretted asking. Of course, she didn't want to go around kissing boys. Not so soon after Harry's death. She wanted to slap herself for the stupidity.

"I'm afraid no boy would want to put up with me right now. Damaged goods, you know. I don't even think I could kiss another boy without dissolving into a pathetic mess." She sighed. "I miss it though… but everything reminds me of him. It's just so fucking—so fucking unfair." Tears puddled in Ginny's eyes.

Hermione stood up and went beside the bed, kneeling and grabbing Ginny's hand.

"You are many things, Ginny Weasley. Fierce, brave, cunning. I believe even Voldemort would have been wary of you at your full temper. But one thing you are _not_ is damaged goods. One day… one day you'll find your adventure. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in ten years. It will happen at the right time. Don't rush yourself, yeah?"

Ginny sniffled and then rolled her eyes, brushing the underside of her nose with the back of her hand.

"Alright, let's cease the mushy sentiments. If I hear one more, I might hurl." She sat up, her red hair standing around her head with static electricity. If there was one thing, Hermione appreciated about Ginny it was she disdained placating statements and banal conversation. If it didn't contain a bit of fire, Ginny wanted no part of it.

Hermione got up to get dressed for detention. She received an owl during dinner from Professor Rosewood, saying their first detention would be in the Forbidden Forest, gathering potion ingredients. Which meant wearing clothing made for getting dirty. When finished, she glanced into the mirror. Ginny appeared at her shoulder.

"I can't say I'm happy about this odd thing you have with Malfoy—"

"It was a simple snog, Gin. Nothing more."

Ginny gave her look that could be translated into, _you're either full of shit or delusional._

"Just be careful," Ginny said in a soft voice. "Something about the whole situation makes me wary. Malfoy is a bigoted, entitled asshole. He has been since the beginning, and I don't think he's going to change anytime soon. Just… At the very least, don't let Ron find out about it."

"You worry too much. The ferret may give a decent snog, but it was just an experiment, probably for both of us. We've hated each other for so long, I'm shocked we didn't snog sooner from the tension. But, I _promise_, there's nothing more to it." Hermione's voice was hard, as if to convince herself.

**Hermione**

The sun sunk into the horizon, the sky bursting with deep orange, as she walked out to Hagrid's hut. The moon peeked behind clouds, a full, bloated circle so large Hermione imagined a cowboy could swing a lasso and tug it down. November winds nipped at her skin, and she hugged her woolen robe tighter. She wore muggle clothing for comfort: leggings paired with a slouchy shirt with her trainers cinched tight to her feet.

As she drew closer, she noticed, ever the proper wizard, Draco wore a full set of robes, with dress shoes so shiny they sparkled with the stars.

"You do realize we'll be tramping through the forest. Will you cry if you rip your designer dress robes?"

Draco pulled up the corners of his nose. "My clothes were hand sewn with unbreakable silver thread. The only clothes ripping off will be yours." He gave a wiggle of an eyebrow. "Besides, a wizard should always dress his best. You never know when you'll need to make a good impression."

"Yes, I'm sure it will win a few points with the centaurs."

Hagrid ambled out of his hut before Draco could make out a response.

"'ermione!" He reached out and gave her a big bear hug almost strong enough to crack her back. He looked somehow diminished since the last she saw him. His eyes bloodshot, face swollen. He looked as if he dropped four stones. She instantly felt guilty, for not having visited him since beginning her final year. Of course, , the half giant was grieving as hard as her. He lost Harry and Grawp during the final battle. Hermione reminded herself to stop by for tea and check up on him when her detention was over. He let her down and patted her head.

"I heard yeh got yerself in a wee bit o' trouble with dueling, eh. Never was my favorite subject. Never mind that. Professor Rosewood said to give yeh a task to accomplish. I hope yeh don't mind, but it'll be in the middle o' the forest. It's the only place they shed."

"Shed?" Draco spat out.

"Aye, shed. The silver-eyed horned toads are producing slime."

Hermione went cold. The slime was used for making a stronger form of Amortentia, called Fortus Amortentia. The slime was also controlled substance, regulated by the ministry because of the illegal use of the potion, something akin to the date rape drug, except the subject was conscious, just unable to stop themselves. To possess it without a permit could receive jail time. What they had been asked to do was illegal, if not given preapproval by the ministry.

Draco narrowed his eyes. He was nearly a prodigy at potions, even without Snape's influence. He knew exactly what this entailed. They held each other's gaze until he shrugged, telling her that he wouldn't ask any questions.

However, Hermione couldn't shrug it off so easily. It chaffed against her nature.

Why would Professor Rosewood want them to gather slime from the silver-eyed horned toads?

_Two detentions or the involvement of the ministry?_ He had threatened.

What exactly had she gotten herself into?

"Alrigh'," Hagrid rummaged through his pocket and took out a crumpled piece of paper. "This map'll lead yeh to 'em. The Forbidden Forest is the only place they're found, discovered by Rowena Ravenclaw herself."

Hermione knew this already. It's why it's so valuable on the black market. The slime drips from the backs only once every ten years, and only on a full moon.

He handed it to Draco who looked at the map with a shudder of disgust. He gripped the edges with two fingers and handed it to Hermione, promptly wiping his hands on his robes as if to dispel the germs the half-giant could give him.

Hermione rolled her eyes and smoothed out the crumpled paper, tracing her eyes over a bright blue line weaving through trees. Draco and her footprints, much like on the Marauder's map, showed up next to Hagrid's hut.

"Are you coming with us?" Hermione asked Hagrid. The thought of spending another night in close contact with Draco Malfoy sounded dangerous. He always managed to corner her, weaving his words, until she could only look on in confusion as his lips inched forward.

"Sorry, 'ermione. The Thestrals are hungry."

"I understand," she said but heard the dread in her voice.

They'd be alone in the forest. Draco gave her a lingering wicked smirk at the answer that made her want to swipe it off him.

**Hermione**

The forest was alive, breathing with the shiver of branches, moving with the crackle of leaves. In her entire time at Hogwarts, she had never ventured passed the boundaries except for first year and the time she tricked Dolores Umbridge. At the time, she'd been too afraid to notice her surroundings. But now the noises jumped from the trees around her: growls, hoots, and whispers. The Forbidden Forest warned its intruders early on that they needed to exit or risk being swallowed by the foliage.

"We're going off path," Draco said, looking at the map in Hermione's hands. Their footprints strayed from the blue line. Hermione veered to the left and reentered the path.

Draco stayed quiet, which wasn't like him. She couldn't get a good read off him. Not angry. Not annoyed. Not happy. Maybe he was second-guessing this mission like she was. It raised too many questions to sit right within her.

The trek was short, and they didn't run into any of the forest's famed creatures.

The faint glow told her it was just up ahead. As they got closer the glow brightened, until they brushed past the final branch to reveal the splendor. Hermione sucked in a breath at the striking beauty.

The silver-eyed horned toad's slime shined around them, bioluminescent under the silver light of the full moon slicing through the treetops. As if a giant paintbrush slashed glowing liquid mercury with random, angry strokes, splattering droplets as it went.

Draco dug into his pocket and withdrew ten empty glass vials.

"Let's get this over with."

Using a spoon, they scraped the goop from the ground. It was thick and stringy, dripping like melting cheese when Hermione tried to pick it up. It also reeked of rotten fruit. Hermione gagged when some of the liquid dripped on her fingers. She tried to wipe it on a nearby bush, but it adhered to her skin like super glue.

Hermione suddenly threw down her vial and spoon.

"Are we not going to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" Draco said.

He knew damn well what she meant.

"I don't want to be a part of this. Not without knowing what he's going to do with it."

"Sometimes," Draco took another scoop of slime and scraped it into the vial, "Questions only bring trouble."

"How can you just—"

"How can I just go along with it, despite moral ambiguity?" He gave her a long, sharp look. "It comes down to power, Granger. Who has it and who doesn't. Now, normally that little twerp would be groveling at my feet, begging for scraps of attention. It's unfortunate that he has found leverage. At least, for a little while he does."

"But we can't just let him take this substance. It could be used to harm others."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"And what do you think will happen if Rosewood tells the ministry about our little duel, using curses bordering on dark magic. If you think the response would be forgiving, you are more naïve and stupid than I thought."

"Shacklebolt—"

"Shacklebolt's hands would be tied. He can't bend the rules, even for the golden girl. Especially so close to the war. Zero tolerance, Granger. Besides, you should be more wary of the ministry than me. Shacklebolt is one of the only muggleborn champions in power right now."

"I don't believe that."

One eyebrow raised, elegantly.

"Why else would they allow Umbridge back on the Wizegamot?"

Everything inside Hermione went cold and still. She snapped up her head to look at Draco.

"You're lying. She's being tried for her crimes in the war."

"Haven't you been following the trials? She was acquitted."

She hadn't followed Umbridge's trial, assuming it was an open and shut case. Hermione's first instinct was to call him a liar. But why would he lie, when the truth was more disturbing?

"How the fuck—

"Nearly everyone, besides the more serious Death Eaters, have been freed. There's too many of them to find everyone guilty. Half the wizarding population would be in Azkaban. The economy would fracture even more than it already has."

"But Umbridge stole wands. She sent whole muggleborn families into Voldemort's camps to die."

"And now she's free and already clawing her way to the top again."

Hermione felt ill, stomach dropping and rolling inside her. How could such a vile, hateful human being be found innocent when there was so much evidence of her crimes. Though looking at the situation through the lens of history, she couldn't say she was surprised. How many Nazis went on to live normal lives after World War II? They couldn't cage them all, even the psychopaths that lined children on the edge of pits, looked them in the eye, and shot them in the head with cold detachment.

Draco put a stopper into the last vial and placed it next to the others he finished. Then he looked over, glancing at her up and down. His eyes pinned her open like a dissected frog as he stood up and walked over, crouching down in front of her. His bum rested on the backs of his dress shoes, which she could now see were made from black dragon skin. Rare and expensive, just like everything else he owned.

"The wizarding world will never love your kind. The last time I told you this you thought I was being cruel, but the reality is a cruelty of its own."

The shock settled in her bones. She wrapped it tight around her body like her coat so it couldn't hurt again. The idea that prejudice would be eradicated because of a war was a fantasy.

Last time she didn't believe him, clinging to the hope of a new world. But now Umbridge was free, and his words tasted like an unpleasant truth.

Maybe if Dumbledore lived… or if Harry lived, it would be different. The champion for good and bravery, the boy who always triumphed. Harry could have changed the world because he was one of them, half pureblood. Even though he grew up in the muggle world, his blood allowed him to transition. It gave him respect, his inheritance gleaming with the gold galleons in Gringotts.

Hermione did not belong, no matter how much she tried, like trying to push a square into a slot meant for a circle. She'd have to shave herself down to get herself to fit.

Draco's hand tilted her chin up, so that she could look him in the eye. Just like she predicted, he somehow cornered her, his words making her brain fuzzy, while she wondered how they ended up so close.

"The magical world only respects power, reputation, and blood." He brushed his thumb over her lip. "You have two out of three, but no one will listen to you, unless you have the third." He paused, as if performing a delicate surgery. "The only way you'll get what you want is if you have a stand-in for blood, a person of the right status to promote you."

"Like you?"

"If you let me, I could be _very_ good to you." He stared at her lips now, as if contemplating the exact time to strike, the point of least resistance. "I'd open locked doors. Force deaf ears to listen. Name it, Granger, and I can deliver it on a silver platter. What was that ridiculous club you tried to promote in fourth year?"

"SPEW," Hermione replied. She meant it to come out hard, but her voice was breathy.

"That's right." He gave a little laugh. "You could save the house elves. It would be simple. Grease the right palms. Manipulate the right official. Flatter the right lawmaker… think of everything you could accomplish with me by your side."

"I could do all of that without you."

He grabbed an errant curl and twirled it around his finger.

"The world is cold, Granger. The glass ceiling is low for muggleborns. If you get a job in the ministry, it will be to file paperwork, and you'll stay there for the rest of your life. They'll mine your giant brain for ideas, but never give you credit."

She should get up and push him away instead of listening to his poisoned words, but his hand dropped her chin to her clavicle, tracing the hollow point of her throat. Then his finger dipped down, running over the outline of her breast and curve of her waist through her clothes.

Hermione was a feminist by nature, but she understood the pureblood families, and most of the wizarding world, were staunchly patriarchal. Women were still married off like chattel and expected to stay at home and raise little magical babies.

If she was honest with herself, even Ron expected she'd stay at home, if they got married.

Despite being revolted by the ideas he stated, there was something inside her, traced all the way back to evolutionary caveman roots, that was seduced by what he offered. Freeing the house elves! A champion for magical creatures! Because he was right, even being the smartest witch of her age, life after Hogwarts would be an uphill battle against systemic pureblood ideals. Bypassing all that was tempting.

But the price would be too high.

"You won't save the house elves out of the goodness of your heart, which means you want something from me. Probably more than I'm willing to give." Hermione faltered when Draco's hand slipped under the edge of her shirt at her back, letting his fingers brush the area towards the end of her spine. The feeling zipped up her nerves. The hairs on the back of her neck rose in pleasure.

What he suggested went far beyond the bet, and it terrified her.

"Of course. Why do something for free, when you can get something out of it. It's an exchange with no loser. Win-win. Quid pro quo. Haven't I explained that already? "

The tingle went across her body ending on her lips. One hand went up to touch them, a solid pressure to prevent herself from dripping down into the darkness he offered.

But she forgot she had the slime on her finger. It was a miniscule amount, a single drop, but it was enough for her to know immediately she was in trouble.

Silver-eyed horned toad slime contained a natural, potent aphrodisiac. She studied its molecular compound in the advanced potions book over the summer. It's why the substance is controlled, because even in its raw form, it caused an intense reaction in its victim, much like muggle drugs.

Hermione gasped as it flowed like lava down her veins, burning as it went. Her cells throbbed with her pulse, and she ached, needing something or anything to relieve the instant torture. The throbbing went lower, settling between her legs. She squeezed them together in response, but it did nothing but increase the tingle.

"Fuck," she whispered, wishing she could cry.

Draco's eyes snapped up in surprise, probably hearing the desperation in her voice, the pain.

"Grang—"

He didn't finish, because she threw herself at him, attaching their lips.


	10. Like Honey

**Song Suggestion:** Jem- "Come on Closer"

**Warning:** The chapter is a little **dub-con**, depending on how you look at it. Also, from this point, things will get a little steamy.

**Like Honey **

**Draco**

Draco fell backward, arms cinching around Granger's waist, pressing them tight together. Slime stuck to his hair and adhered to his arms, but he found he didn't care, not when Hermione pulled up her legs, wrapping them on either side of his waist, straddling his body.

Her lips didn't stay on his for long, trailing down his neck. She licked a spot just under his ear that ripped a groan from his mouth.

"I want to touch you." The intensity in her voice set his whole body on fire. It was everything he wanted, and she offered it so freely. "I need to touch you right now."

It went against every instinct in his body, but he pulled back. Something wasn't right. It was hard to concentrate because her dainty hands went to his pants, fumbling with the buttons and zipper. His cock hardened to the point of pain, and when her fingers brushed his length through his boxers, he nearly flipped her over and fucked her into the soil like an animal.

Instead, he reeled back and shoved her away. Now that he could really look at her, he saw the proof. Bioluminescent slime glowed around her lips. Not much, but enough. Draco brushed at his lips with his sleeve in case their kiss transferred the potent stuff. If he ingested it, there was no doubt they'd fuck until morning.

Hermione, still under the influence, lunged at him, nearly tackling him to the ground again, but he stepped out of the way, pointed his wand at her curly head and muttered a sleeping spell. She crumpled against the ground.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair and groaned, dick still rock hard and staining against his pants with nothing to relieve it.

"You're going to be the death of me, little mudblood."

After collecting the slime vials, he leaned down and scooped her up, arms under her legs and shoulders. He could carry her with magic, but he liked the feel of her pressed against him. She curled her face into his chest, and he had to admit she looked fucking adorable asleep, like a declawed kitten. He bent down and kissed her forehead, allowing himself to steal the tiny pleasure.

"Tomorrow you're going to hate yourself for this." He whispered into her hair. "And then you're going to misinterpret my actions. You'll believe I stopped because I decided to do the right thing." He sighed, enjoying her weight in his arms. "But I only stopped because our first time won't be drug induced. You'll have your eyes open, aware that it's me that's inside you. And you won't be able to blame it on anything else but yourself."

Hermione gave an endearing sleepy sigh in return, her curls cascading around her face, obscuring it from view as Draco made the trek back to Hagrid's hut.

**Draco**

After exiting the forbidden forest, Draco deposited an unconscious Granger into Hagrid's arms.

"What happened?" The half-giant had the audacity to narrow his eyes at Draco in suspicion.

"She ingested the slime by accident." He didn't go any further into detail, twisting around and walking to the castle, assuming Hagrid would deposit Granger with the elves to transfer into her dorm. He didn't even look back to see if the accusing expression changed. He didn't care what some half-breed thought of him.

After a shower, where he scrubbed bioluminescent slime from his hair and body, he tumbled into bed and wasted no time wanking at the thought of Granger. He imagined what would have happened if he took her up on her offer. Imagined the sight of her golden skin in the moonlight as he slipped off her clothes, imagined her head thrown back as he plunged into her, the wet heat enveloping around him. He felt drowned with just the thought, until it burst from him.

He climaxed and then used his wand to clean up. After, he leaned back and attempted to sleep, but the desire still pricked him. It didn't make sense.

Thirty minutes later, after the second wank, Draco grew even more frustrated when the desire didn't abate. His belly tightened and throbbed almost painfully.

He almost reached down again to wank for a third time, an unheard-of feat even for his sex drive, when he gasped in realization.

Granger never took off the spell at the end of the duel, the one that linked them. It still slithered in his chest when he concentrated for proof. She had forgotten with the confusion. They'd been linked the whole time. Even though by this point, it was weak, holding on by a thread.

This wasn't his desire… it was Granger's.

The mudblood didn't understand the magic she used. He wondered where she even discovered it. Usually pureblood families kept their most important magic and traditions written only in family Grimoires. This wasn't something she could just sneak into the restricted section and read about.

Playing with this type of magic, letting it sit inside of him, was entering a dangerous game. His mother warned him of it at an early age. Soul magic linked people, and once the magic took root, it didn't want to release. It liked staying connected, craved it. If he toyed with it too much, it would come back around like the Fiendfyre Granger warned him of and engulf him.

But he couldn't resist plucking the magic a little, playing with it. In this game, he had all the control, since he was the only one who understood it.

If he could feel her desire, then he could manipulate it if he concentrated enough. All he needed to do was strengthen the link she started and give a little… projection.

He smirked as he conjured a little image, muttering the spell under his breath.

"Anima Vinculum"

**Hermione**

Hermione twisted in her sheets, eyes snapping open to a darkened room. It took a moment to orient herself to her surroundings, finding she was back in her dorm. Though it didn't take long for her memories of the forbidden forest to come back to her, and it too even less time for the shame to make her feel a little ill.

She kissed Draco Malfoy. _Again._ By this point, the sting of the act should have faded with repeated exposure, but shame ate her insides, making her feel as if she betrayed all her friends, alive and dead.

This kiss had been drug-induced, but it made it no less real. The memory of lips ghosted across her skin. The taste of his skin, salt and sweet, danced on her taste buds.

How did she get back to Gryffindor tower? The last thing she knew she had Draco pinned to the ground and then the world went dark. He must have used a sleeping spell on her, which didn't make any sense.

Why did he not take her up on her offer? Instead of participating, he had shoved her away, eyes wild, as if demons chased him. Why didn't he capture her lips, crush her into the ground, show her how filthy she really was to him?

It didn't fit up with his character. One thing was for sure, he didn't do it out of the goodness of his own heart. He played his games with smiles; the ulterior motive became the card up his sleeve that he'd slip out when she least expected it.

Maybe he wanted her to trust him… She snorted at the delusional thought.

Worst of all, the effects of the slime still pounded through her system. It would take several more hours until it went away. The thought did not comfort her, because there was only one way to get rid of the problem.

The throbbing continued for almost an hour, almost to the point of distraction until something niggled at the back of her mind, a powerful seductive thought. She fought it, knowing what approached. But still her eyes closed shut tight, and the image popped into her thoughts, almost as if out of her control.

"Hello Granger," Draco whispered in her subconscious. Her imagination conjured him so precisely he almost looked corporal, as if she could reach out and touch him. Unable to resist the compulsion, her fingers went out and touched his shoulder. She whipped back.

"This feels so real."

"The slime," the image said, though he smirked as if he lied. "It fucks with your mind, your sense of reality. It's still running through you. Don't deny it. I can feel it. The need. The hunger. It won't go away anytime soon, unless you do something about it."

She stepped away from him. Even in dream form, he made her wary.

But she didn't get far. The back of her knees hit something solid, and she plopped down, her fall stopped by a simple wooden chair. Everything else around her was hazy and dark, an empty sea of nothing, void of everything except her, Malfoy, and the chair.

Malfoy looked less formal than he ever did in real life without a shirt and pajama bottoms slung low on his hips highlighting the V shape of his lower abs. Blond strands of silky hair strayed in different directions, breaking free from his usual severe hairstyle into something softer.

She tried not to ogle at his body, but her eyes did what they wanted. He was a little on the thin side, with ropy muscles and surprising broad shoulders. Alabaster skin glowed, as if fashioned by some God on a whim, trying to create beauty, only just failing at perfection. His long torso showed dips and rivulets produced from quidditch, a stark contrast to the abnormal scar slashing down his middle— a brutal remnant from Sectumsempra—taking up much of the expanse of his chest. Even worse, a dark mutilated scar slashed across his forearm, hideous even after fading. Several months after Voldemort's death, the relic of the Dark Mark remained.

Despite the things that should repel her, Hermione found she couldn't look away at the sight he created, as if awoken straight from bed.

"You don't have a shirt?" Hermione pointed out.

"You have little room to talk about clothing choices." He glanced her up and down with a wry smile.

She wore a giant Hello Kitty shirt, tattered and worn, paired with athletic shorts so small they disappeared under the cotton expanse of her shirt.

Draco walked closer, a wicked smile on his lips. He looked every inch the devil, a master of lies, ready to embed his teeth into willing flesh.

The desire increased, thumping its way along her skin. She should open her eyes and wake up, shake the image from her mind. But she found that she didn't want to. The temptation was too strong to resist this time.

He kneeled before her, placing one hand on her knees. They separated on command, against her good sense, and he stole the opportunity, slipping his heated shoulders between her thighs. He curled his hands under her knees and tugged down, letting her body slip just enough, so her back arched up, giving him the perfect access to spots that throbbed.

"Allow me to help you with your problem, Granger."

Hermione tried to say no but groaned when she didn't shove him away. She placed a hand on her face, unable to look at his smirk of victory without shame. Even in a dream, it felt like defeat.

"I won't bite" He bunched the fabric of her shirt into a tangled mess to her waist. "Unless you want me to… But I'm not going to begin until you ask me to. I need to hear you say it."

She drew in one long breath and let it out slowly, a sigh of acceptance, staring at the ceiling in defeat.

"I fucking want you to, so just get on with it, you prick, before I find someone else to do it."

He grinned and pointed his wand at her shorts and muttered a spell under his breath, and they vanished. She knew this because Draco inhaled a sharp breath, eyes roving at the sight she presented, bare and exposed to the hazy mist of daydreams.

_Of course, he knew a spell that vanished knickers._ She thought, feeling her cheeks heat at his intense expression.

"You look delicious."

Everything seized up inside her with panic. She had never done this in real life. She had given a few blowjobs, but her partners were either too immature or too selfish to reciprocate the action. She had always been curious, of course, and normally would desire to experiment. But the hungry look Draco gave her, as if he wanted to consume her, left her feeling splayed open, flayed of her skin to expose the whooshing blood beneath.

Her hands shook, and Draco noticed. He reached out and placed a hand on top to steady it, while reaching down and kissing the spot on her inner thigh just above her knee.

"It's just a dream. There's nothing to be afraid of."

It calmed her. Her was right. This wasn't real. Her mind fabricated this tempting place, induced by potent slime. What would it hurt to indulge the fantasy? Who would know if she enjoyed it?

When else would her mind conjure an image so real the pads of his fingers burned her thighs, lips setting her nerve endings on fire as he kissed higher and higher. Maybe this would get him out of her system.

Giving in, she scooted down, allowing her desire to take control. She grabbed the edges of her shirt and pushed it up higher. In response, Draco smirked against the skin of her thigh, mouth open, his tongue dipping down to taste her skin.

His lips moved at an agonizing pace until she almost screamed in frustration. When he finally touched the destination, hot and wet and throbbing, she threaded her fingers through his silky hair, unable to stop her body pressing herself into his mouth.

It felt fucking fantastic.

He teased her at first. A brush of a kiss. A tender flick of his tongue.

The torture became too much.

"Please…" She wished she could drown in a lake somewhere. "Please, Malfoy."

"Hmm," he purred. It hummed through her body, and she quivered. "The sound of you begging me is sweeter than I imagined."

His hands wrapped around her back, pulling her forward, tongue brushing firmly from the bottom of her slit to her clit, and her world went white and then dark. The need was too hot, too great. She only lasted a few minutes of his hot mouth before the world exploded around her, her body trembling. After, she collapsed in her chair, bones like jelly.

Draco sat back and rubbed the edge of his lips with his finger and then put it in his mouth for a final taste.

"Like honey. You taste like things I shouldn't have." His self-satisfied expression looked too real, but she was too spent to pull down her dress or close her legs. He glanced at her exposed body, giving another look of hunger.

"You can go now," Hermione said. Now that the throbbing need was gone, she'd rather he exit her daydream.

Damn the fucking slime for conjuring his stupid, smirking face.

"No manners, little witch. Here, I'll help you… Draco, _thanks ever so_ for giving me the best orgasm of my life." Draco placed a hand on his chest. "Oh, you're too kind, Granger. I'll volunteer to lick your delectable pussy anytime you want." He raised his hand, giving one last rakish look up and down her body, "And now that we're done, we can both go the fuck to sleep."

He snapped his finger, and the image vanished. Hermione opened her eyes, her legs tangled even further in her sheets. One hand went up and wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. She heaved in a shuddering breath.

A sudden chill went through her at his last words. He said them as if… as if…

Her stomach heaved and hurled at the thought of it being real. Of Draco seeing her pull her legs open willingly, of hearing her pant his name in vulnerable need.

No, she assured herself, there was no way Draco could have produced a magical daydream so powerful, so tangible, she still felt his fingers digging into the soft skin of her thigh. Unless she missed something important. Too tired to examine anything, the last thing she thought before diving into sleep was that dream Draco was right:

She just had the best orgasm of her life.

**Draco **

Rosewood held out his hand, and Draco delivered the slime in ten neatly filled vials. When the professor's hand went up to grab it, Draco held on a little firmly, refusing to release.

One eyebrow rose on Rosewood's forehead. He glared at Draco, briefly dropping the benevolent mask he wore, and the Malfoy heir reevaluated the Defense professor. He always thought of his as a weak-minded fool, but there was something cold under his eyes. A warning, a threat.

"I hope you'll be… _discree_t about your detention in the forbidden forest. I expect a Slytherin pureblood like yourself to be able to keep a few secrets."

"Of course," Draco answered, but he did not let go of the vials. "However, I am curious. What do you plan to do with the slime? There are only three ways you can use it, and all are illegal. I doubt the ministry would approve this endeavor."

Rosewood's eyes grew colder, dark as caves. He tilted his head, as if amused by something Draco didn't understand. Draco's instincts sharpened, feeling a prickle of danger for the first time in months.

"If your father hasn't told you, then he's decided you don't need to know."

Draco let go of the vials and stepped back.

"My father—"

"And I don't want to disappoint him. Neither do you, I expect."

Draco snapped his lips shut, feeling his father's eyes on him, even though he was in a cell in the ministry. What was he up to? Knowing his father, the plot he wove was intricate.

"If you wanted silence, then why allow Hagrid to give us the map, and why involve Granger?"

"Hagrid isn't an issue. I found another dragon egg in his cabin. I allowed him to keep it for a few favors, and I assured him everything was through legal channels."

"Granger won't be so easy to convince."

Rosewood nodded. His eyes twinkled as if a little fond of the Gryffindor. The look caused Draco to straighten, understanding approval from a man like this would be more like a poison.

"Do try to relay to Miss Granger the seriousness of the situation."

Draco resisted the desire to pull out his wand and throw a few painful curses. The little witch was _his_, whether she knew it yet or not. No one else had the right to manipulate her.

_Please, Draco_, she had moaned, eyes wide and begging, dripping wet honey on his tongue. It was the sexiest thing he'd ever heard. Her taste still lingered in his mouth, despite it not being truly real. He'd done the same act several times with Pansy, but he never had enjoyed it as he did last night. The scent, the softness. He desired nothing more than to bury his face into her little cunt again, but this time for real. He'd do it just to hear her little whimpers, feel her thighs shaking, see her undone and sated.

This fucking insignificant toadstool of a man had the audacity to give a veiled threat to Hermione Granger. Had the audacity to fling his father's name at him as if Draco wasn't a Malfoy heir in his own right. Power wasn't just a talent for magic. It was a name. It was blood. It was connections. Sometimes people needed to be reminded of their status in the hierarchy.

"Listen closely," Draco took a step forward. It was with great pleasure he noted Rosewood took a quick step back. "If you mention my father to me again as a threat, you'll find yourself without a job. I might be your student, but you've forgotten who I really am. One complaint from me, and your next teaching assignment will be in a slum."

Rosewood's smirk faltered. He wasn't much older than them. Youth and inexperience clung to him, probably still in his early twenties. It was obvious he was new to the game. Manipulating a snake was a dangerous hobby. If you don't know what you're doing, you'll get bit.

"I'm only following orders, Mr. Malfoy." The coldness came back in his eyes, only briefly flickered out by fear. "It's a warning not a threat, and it doesn't stem from me. I see the way you look at Miss Granger, how you follow her every movement. I'm no fool. I know what you're trying to achieve with her… and I don't blame you. She's remarkable, despite her blood status. Intelligent and talented, a beautiful little trophy for a rich man's bed… so If you want to keep her unharmed, then you need to follow my advice. Keep her close and keep her silent, because there are a few dangerous men who'd want to take your trophy and shatter it."

Rosewood walked out of the classroom before Draco could respond, only pausing long enough at the doorway to throw a final stab.

"For your second detention in the forest, I'm going to need you to collect Acromantula venom."

Rosewood left, leaving Draco to seethe quietly. Acromantula venom was a harder task to obtain than toad slime, but it wasn't what made Draco pause.

No, the real worry was Granger's silence. A self-preserving Slytherin saw the value in secrets, but a brave little Gryffindor could be foolhardy when it came to doing the right thing. Rosewood was right. If he couldn't keep her silent, he needed to keep her close. Because a storm was brewing. He'd been in enough of them to feel the churning winds.


	11. Sentient Creatures

**Song Suggestion:** Konoba- "On Our Knees" (ft. R.O)

**Thank You:** Thanks for all the lovely comments. Shout out to **Kendran** for the longest review I've ever received. Each review boosts my writing speed! I read them about once a day for motivation.

**Random Question:** Do any of you use Archive of our Own? I'm considering posting my stories to another platform, as well as here. What are others you use?

**Hermione**

**Sentient Creatures**

Hermione walked towards Hagrid's hut for the last detention. When she arrived, Draco already leaned against a nearby tree. Hagrid was nowhere in sight this time.

The moon hid behind the clouds, darkening everything, so Draco couldn't see her sudden blush upon seeing his silky hair hanging over lowered eyes.

She shook the feeling off her, refusing to feel embarrassed for a harmless fantasy, despite how real it felt.

_You taste like things I shouldn't have. _

Such an odd statement to imagine. How did her subconscious know Malfoy so well that she could recreate him with such exacting details?

"Did you have a nice dreams Granger?" His smirk turned wicked again, mimicking the one she had in her daydream. It gave her a moment's pause, but she recovered. He obviously referred to the fact he knocked her out when she attacked him. Still embarrassing, but she could blame it on the slime.

"I never remember my dreams." Hermione grabbed her massive crown of curls and pulled it up, tying it into a bun on the top of her head. "What does he want this time?"

"Acromantula venom."

Hermione almost dropped her curls in shock but finished the final loop of her hair tie. She frowned and shook her head.

"At least this time it's legal." She placed her hand on her hips, wishing Hagrid would make another appearance. Draco kept raking his eyes up and down her body. The daydream might not have been real, but it felt real enough his proximity sent tingles down her body. "So how will we get there? Do we have another map?"

"No," Draco said. "This time we'll use a much faster mode of transportation."

It was then she noticed the object near him, hidden by the shadow of a giant tree. A long stick with a fluffy end— an object she attempted to stay far away from, unless in life or death situations.

"Nope," Hermione took a step back. "I'd rather fight Voldemort again than get anywhere near a blasted broom."

Draco's teeth glowed as brightly as his hair under the stars. It gave him a manic, unearthly quality, a step away from demonic. He took far too much pleasure in this.

"I thought you'd say that."

Before she could run or scream, he threw one leg over his broom and bolted toward her. He gripped her around the waist as she tried to lunge away, tugging her aboard. Her legs grappled behind him, curling around the handle in terror, and on instinct she cinched her arms around his waist.

"Hold on tight, Granger, we're about to go very, very fast."

Hermione screamed into his stupid, heavenly-smelling, expensive robes as they shot like a lightning bolt across the sky.

**Hermione **

"You're really afraid of flying, aren't you?" Draco slowed down a little, probably because she cut off his circulation. Hermione answered with a shiver, clinging to his body like a life raft, burying her head into his back, refusing to look down for fear she'd paint the sky with her vomit.

Draco slowed down even more, until they crawled in the sky at a comfortable rate.

"Honestly, I thought you didn't fly because it was one of the only things you weren't good at, like divination."

Hermione shrugged. "I'm wary of others knowing I'm terrified of something, especially during the war. It could have easily been used against me or one of my friends."

I occurred to Hermione she just handed Draco a loaded weapon. A fear he could use against her right now, if he wished.

In response to her revelation, he placed on hand on her trembling thigh, as if to calm her.

"There's nothing to be afraid of with me."

"Both hands on the broom." She warned, and he laughed, lifting his hand off her thigh and rewrapping around the handle.

"This broom can fly faster than you can fall. If I can catch a snitch, I can catch you. Very few people could beat me skill wise."

"Harry could." It was out of her mouth before she could stop it, like a sneeze. She regretted the turn of conversation.

His back straightened, the muscles tightening his shoulder blades beneath her cheek, and then he relaxed.

"I hated the git for that. I was nearly born on a broom. Flying is as natural as breathing to me. I always thought I'd be the best, until the day he caught Longbottom's Remembrall." He gave a sardonic laugh. "The fucker didn't even have any training. The very first time on a broom and he was pulling off insane tricks. Just pure, raw talent. I knew then he'd be a thorn in my shoe." He paused. "Though I'll tell you a secret, if you promise not to tell a single soul."

"Why would you do that?"

Secrets required trust, and Hermione trusted Draco about as well as a fox in a fairytale. She assumed he felt the same about her.

"I know your secret. If I tell you mine, then we'll be even."

Hermione thought about it and nodded her head. She knew he felt the movement through his clothes.

"By the end, I hated Potter with all the magic in my body," he said. "But as a first year, I wasn't lying when I held out my hand. He could have been my friend. It's his loss that he chose the walking contagious rash instead of me."

She pinched his side, and he gave a little laugh, edging away from her fingers.

"I'm serious," he said. "I always wondered where life would have taken us if he had accepted my friendship. Would he have been placed in Slytherin and fallen in with my lot… or would I have been a part of the Golden Trio instead of Ron? Fought against the Dark Lord?"

He went silent, and Hermione didn't answer. The thought of Draco Malfoy being a friend in their group, of going on adventures, of helping Harry Potter save the world was both strange and compelling.

His revelation twisted something inside her belly. Low and slow, and her stomach felt as if it might jump.

"I bet Harry, wherever he is, is smiling at that idea," Hermione whispered, voice catching on a spike of emotion thinking about her best friend.

"You're probably right. He was always a peace-loving twat under the rage." He shook his head. "However, I still haven't forgiven the fucker for nearly killing me sixth year. I still carry the scars."

"I know." She let it slip out and then wanted to bite her tongue. She's seen them in her dream, though she'd never say that out loud.

"Do you?" He asked, a tilt of teasing to his tone.

"I mean, I assume."

"Sure."

When she thought about it, it was odd she conjured his scars, as if subconsciously knowing he'd have them. The uneasy feeling overtook her again.

Hermione did not look down yet, but she had pulled her face from his back. Though she hurtled through the sky on nothing but a skinny stick held aloft by someone else's magic, she felt oddly safe with Malfoy at the helm. If she _had_ to fly, she'd rather it be with someone as confident on a broom as the blond git she clung to.

"Do you even know where we're going?"

"Of course, I do."

Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion.

"How in the world would you know where the Acromantula nest is?"

He didn't answer her at first, and the muscles in his back tensed again.

"I had an… _assignment_. Acromantualas are sentient creatures—"

"I know. Harry and Ron were almost eaten in second year by a nest of them. Hagrid raised the king named Aragog."

Draco made a sound of disgust.

"How am I _not _surprised Potter survived an Acromantual king as a second year. Also, how am I not surprised the bloody half-giant thought he could have one as a pet." He banked a sudden left turn, and Hermione gave a little squeak, holding tighter. "They're sentient," he continued. "Which means the Dark Lord made it a priority to woo them to our side."

The Acromantulas invaded Hogwarts during the final battle. It backfired on the Death Eaters because the giant spiders held no loyalty, driven by a strong instinct for flesh. They tore into any wizards they could find, good or bad. Aragog's respect for Hagrid was a rare exception.

"He sent you to convince them?"

"Just as a tag-along… but I was the only one to survive the encounter."

He shivered under his robes, as if reliving the horror. Hermione withheld a shiver of her own, unable to imagine the slaughter.

"How did you survive?"

"I wasn't stupid enough be lured off my broom, though later I wished I had. The Dark Lord hated any type of failures and punished accordingly."

Voldemort banded out torture to even his most loyal followers. Yes, Draco wore the mark of a death Eater, but Hermione didn't believe he had much choice in the matter. She remembered his wild eyes in sixth year, skin pale as snow. He barely ate, with dark circles under his eyes, wearing his demons like clothes. Even the pureblood princeling bore heavy scars, internal and external, from the war.

She pitied Draco after the war, viewing him as a fallen bully whose punishment didn't fit the crime. But tonight, she had the insane wish to heal his wounds. He should have been just a rich, arrogant prince, lording over Hogwarts. But Voldemort stole that easy childhood from him, giving him corpses, looming death, and never-healing scars instead.

Hermione hesitated and then, riding on impulse, braved her fear long enough to place a hand in the center of his back, his cloak smooth as silk under her fingers. He straightened his spine at the touch. Muscles and tendons rigid.

"I'm sorry you had to experience that," she said as a whisper.

He twisted his head and glanced at her, eyes wide. She surprised him as much as she surprised herself. It was the first kind thing she ever spoke to him.

"Keep your eyes facing forward," she warned.

Did they just have a real conversation? She found him easy to talk to when he wasn't handing out threats or innuendos.

He let his stare linger, one lip curling at the edges. A softer smile than she'd ever seen on him.

"Yes, m'lady," he said sarcastically. He returned to a normal flying position.

After that, they flew in a comfortable silence. Neither of them wanted to break the fragile truce, until he pointed down.

"There they are."

Under the thin canopy of trees, the ground wiggled and shivered. On closer inspection, she saw spindly legs and rounded bodies. There were so many of them, it blanketed the ground. Thousands of bulging eyes trained on them.

The Acromantuals knew they arrived.

_Sentient, indeed. _

For the first time in her entire life, Hermione Granger was happy to be on a broom.

**Draco**

"How in the world are we going to get the venom?" Hermione asked.

Draco glanced down, hovering over the nest safe on the broom, studying the convulsing shapes under the treetops. It would be a challenge to get the venom from a single Acromantula, but almost impossible with thousands to contend with.

"Oh, It's the little Malfoy," one spider, bigger than the rest said, loud enough that even on their brooms they heard the taunt. "He's come back to feed our bellies. Rip the skin. Suck the blood. Eat the bones, let the death last for days. The pain makes it tastier."

The words made him feel as if he hit a brick wall. Draco tried to block out his memoires, to disassociate with the terror from his past, so he could complete the duty of the present.

But it was no use. He remembered the screams, the arcing blood as pincers tore into flesh. Ulbright, the newest Death Eater, was tore down to his bones in minutes. Draco had hovered over the nest with his broom, like he did now, knowing if he went down to help, he'd be eviscerated, but also knowing if he went back to the Dark Lord without succeeding in the mission, he would wish he had been.

Draco shoved the memories into a little box in his mind, like Snape taught him.

"Hello, Mosag." Draco recognized the slithering voice of the female leader of the Acromantula— Aragog's wife.

The entire colony clicked their pinchers together, shaking the view below him, as if he poked a stick in an ant hill. Acromantulas were capable of human speech, but most did not bother learning it. Mosag picked up the language from her mate, even taking on a softer, female tone.

"Sorry, I'd love to be your dinner," Malfoy yelled down. "But we have some very important things to do. Things that would be hard to accomplish if I were dead."

"But you came all this way to visit me..." Mosag hissed. It was hard to hear up in the air with the whistling winds. "We let you live last time as a messenger to your dark wizard, but today I'm very hungry."

Draco paused. He thought he had escaped on his own, but if what Mosag said was true, then it was something planned. Terror was a cold feeling, ice running down his spine.

"A simple request, nothing more."

Mosag skittered to the top of a tall rock, so she was more clearly seen. Her eight eyes glinted in the moonlight, two of them bigger than the rest. Her black, hairy body absorbed the darkness around her, making it look as if her eyes floated in a pool of ink.

"What is it you want, young Malfoy?"

Draco let the sentence linger on the air before responding.

"Your venom."

Mosag hissed and quivered, setting loose her colony to tremble on the dark earth below. It reminded him of leaves shivering in the wind.

Mosag stilled and blinked at him. She raised her front two legs, pincers widening. He was too far away to see them, but he could imagine her rows of sharp teeth, salivating for his flesh.

"I should strip you of your skin, little human. Eat your intestines, slurp the insides like nectar." The spider paused and clicked her pincer. "Though… like I told you, I'm very hungry. What have you brought me to trade with?" All eight eyes on her head blinked at once, fixating on the girl straddling the broom behind him. "Have you brought me a tasty morsel to eat? What a treat she'd be. Magic makes the blood sweeter, and its spills from her like water." She quivered as if more excited at the thought. She scrambled down and up a rock that poised her even higher in the air, pushing lower ranked spiders out of her way. "Let me have her, and I'll give you the venom."

Hermione's arms tightened on his waist. Even floating above death incarnate, the feel of her body pressed tight to his back, the smell of her shampoo in the air, made him want to forget his mission and find some dark, quiet place to begin where they left off last night. Show her that it was all real. Show her how she'd cum on his tongue, while her lips asked him please.

"Malfoy—" she started, but he stopped her.

"Calm, Granger, I'm not giving you up as a sacrificial virgin to the Acromantula queen."

She managed a delicate snort.

"I'd be a terrible sacrificial virgin anyway. Mainly, because I'm not a virgin. Also, because I'm not a maiden in distress."

She wasn't a virgin… The admission surprised him, relived him, and disappointed him all wrapped into one complicated feeling. However, the more he thought about it, it didn't matter who got there first. All that mattered was from now on, she was his.

"The Acromantulas won't wait to check your virginal status. They'd chew you down to your bones in mere seconds. Trust me, I've seen it."

The both became silent for a moment.

"So what now?"

"I have a plan." He reached into his robe and took out a small box, with a giant lock attached. It rattled and groaned in his hand.

"What is that?" Hermione asked.

"It's—"

A jet of white shot toward him, hitting him in the chest, wrapping around his body, suctioning the box to his tight to his ribs

"Trying to be tricky. It won't work with me. I won't let you leave this time, little Malfoy," Mosag yelled up to him.

He didn't know they could shoot their webs this high. He struggled against the sticky web. If he couldn't get the box off his chest to open, they were both in serious danger.

_We let you live last time as a messenger _

He glanced around at Hermione one last time in horror, finally understanding what was about to happen.

"Save yourself, Granger."

The sticky white web tugged him, ripping his whole body from the broom. He hurtled to the ground, watching as death approached, a sea of quivering mass that would devour him in seconds.

The last sound he heard before slamming into the Acromantula nest was Hermione screaming his name.


	12. The Catalyst

**Song Suggestion: **Ruelle- "Game of Survival"

**A/N:** I made a playlist for Brand New World and my Hunger Games fic, The Lion and the Lamb! It includes all my song suggestions in one convenient place. I linked it in my profile. Thanks for being Rockstar readers. I really felt the love last chapter!

**On Updates**: From this point on, expect a chapter every two weeks on Sunday.

**The Catalyst **

**Hermione**

"Draco!" The scream ripped from Hermione's throat.

Hermione grabbed the handle of broom, using all her magic to direct the unwieldly thing. She really should have attempted to master the damnable contraption, but there was no time. She pointed the tip down, tugging her wand from the folds of her robe.

She shot the first curse just as Malfoy slammed into the nest, squashing a spider on impact, exploding goo into the air.

"Arania Exumai!"

Usually she held a section of magic back, in case of physical and mental exhaustion. But this time, the channel burst open, letting her full force come forth.

The blue light exploded on the ground. It pushed a large section of spiders hundreds of feet away from the clearing. The Acromantulas closest to Draco catapulted into the night sky. They fumbled upside down—long, hairy legs wiggling mid-air, and then they plopped back down to earth, some of them skewered on trees as they fell.

The broom obeyed her, zooming towards the earth.

The Acromantulas struck by the spider repelling curse—a spell she learned from Ron—skittered back to the edges of the ancient gnarled trees. Others came forward, attempting to swarm Draco's unconscious body on the ground.

She flung another repelling curse, screaming it at the top of her lungs.

Once the broom got going, she did not really know how to control it. The ground hurtled closer, too fast to prevent the collision. Instead of splattering on the ground, she leapt from the broom, using a cushion charm to stop her fall. She whiplashed with the force and tumbled in a sideways roll towards Draco's body. His broom crashed into the ground and gave an ominous crack.

There was no time to wallow in despair. She rolled to her feet, and pincers clicked towards her face. She reared back, scrambling on her bottom.

"Arania Exumai!" On the ground, her curse was much more effective. It blasted out in a wide arc, sweeping the spiders away as if a hurricane wind blasted them.

Draco moved and groaned behind her. She didn't let herself turn to look at him.

"Are you okay?" She shot another curse towards her right.

"Yeah," he ground out. "My head feels like my brain detached from my skull, but I think I'll live. Luckily, one of them stopped my fall."

He landed on the thorax. It looked as if a giant squashed it under his shoe. Smelly goo and guts splattered in a wide pattern across the grass and low-level bushes, and it covered Malfoy from head to toe.

"I'm not sure your hand-sewn designer robes made much of an impression on the Acromantulas."

"Did potter have to put up with your lip during his hero moments?"

Hermione chucked a spell right over his head, getting a swath of spiders that almost chomped his skull off. To his credit, Draco did not flinch.

"Frequently." Hermione allowed herself to smile, despite the dire circumstances.

"I can't believe I'm finally starting to pity that scarred wanker."

Hermione chucked another spell to the left. At the rate this was going, her magic would soon be depleted. In her fear, she threw them with all the magic her body possessed. It did nothing but scatter them. As soon as she hit ten, twenty filled in the void.

Draco struggled out of the spider web wrapped around him, pushing against it until one arm got free. At least enough to rip out his second hand and the little mysterious box he showed her earlier.

"Whatever your planning, you need to do it soon. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold them off." She threw another curse. This time the Acromantulas got too close for comfort. So close she saw their cavernous mouth. She scrambled next to Draco and the dead spider.

Draco leaned over and tapped the box with his wand, whispering something under his breath.

She threw one more repelling spell just as the lock on the box popped open. A dark shadow slithered out. It faced the Acromantula horde, as it shifted and popped until it ended in the form of a Basilisk. Its giant body curled into a sleek heap on the forest floor.

It hissed, red eyes gleaming, and the spiders skittered backward. The giant snake proved more effective than a repelling charm. The horde of Acromantulas clicked their pincers, heading deeper into the forest, until the only thing visible of the nest was an occasional glint of an eye in the moonlight.

"A boggart?" Hermione asked with her brow raised.

"The only thing Acromantulas fear are the basilisk." Draco shoved at the webs and goo splattered on his body. He sneered at the mess covering him in distaste. "But it turns out basilisks are hard to come by and tricky to handle. This was the closet I could produce to the real thing."

_Clever_, she almost said out loud. Though she wasn't sure why she was surprised. Malfoy always pulled out his intelligence when needed, as proven by sixth year when he managed to spirit Death Eaters into Hogwarts.

"So when do—" A white web wrapped around her torso and mouth, sticking her hands to her body. She only had time to punch out a weak gasp of air before the web tugged backward, dragging her along the forest floor.

Mosag hissed in the shadow of an ancient, twisted tree, its branches bowing to the ground, reeling her in like a fishing pole. Hermione flipped once and then twice, ending on her belly.

"Tricky, tricky wizards," her voice slithered. "Always fooling the nest with your magic, but it can't fool me."

She tugged hard, and this time Hermione gave a scream muffled by the web. Curses boiled in her thoughts, but without hands or voice, it left her bereft of magic. Twisting, she dug her the toes of her trainers into the soil, trying to find purchase, anything to stop the pincers slicing closer with each violent tug.

Draco lifted his wand just as she was in reach of the giant spider's spindly legs. The individual hairs looked sharp as cactus; eight eyes open in anticipation of the meal.

"Petrificus Totalus!" The spell hit the spider queen, and she froze, but not for long. Malfoy walked forward before the spell wore off and used a spell to flip her over and used another Petrificus Totalus against her soft underside. This time the spider queen did not move. "Your hunger made you foolish." Draco bent down and talked to her pincers, knowing she heard him. "You're immune to most magic, but your belly is not. And without your nest, you are vulnerable."

Draco cut the web attaching Hermione to the Acromantula. He tugged at the rest, swiping it off her body as she gasped in panicked breaths, until she could move her wand to a better degree.

"Come on, they'll realize the Basilisk is fake soon enough."

He walked back over to the Acromantula queen and put his wand at her largest pincer.

"Why didn't you kill her?" Hermione asked.

He paused.

"She doesn't deserve such an easy death." He sliced off once pincer and then another. Dark blood leaked from the stumps. She was glad Hagrid wasn't with them to see this, though she never understood the half-giant's affinity for monstrous creatures, especially ones like Acromantulas that were wizard-bred in the Borneo jungles. They didn't belong in nature or in the world. They were an invasive species, something the centaurs had to battle on a regular basis. They consumed the local wildlife, preying on unicorns and other defenseless creatures.

Draco placed the pincers in his bag to extract the venom later, and then he bent so he gazed into Mosag's frozen eye.

"You won't be able to defend yourself now," Draco taunted. "Your own nest will turn on you. And when you're being eaten from the inside out, I hope you remember it was the _little Malfoy_ who placed you in that position."

Hermione let herself shiver at the well-thought out vengeance. She expected nothing less from the Slytherin prince, but she allowed it to chill her as they returned the boggart to its box and straddled the broom, hastily repaired. It clunked as it rose in the air and wiggled as it flew, but it held its weight as it carried them back to the castle.

Under them, she saw the horde of spiders slithering out of the forest now that the threat of the basilisk had vanished. Mosag stirred. As they shot into the night, she could see the Acromantula queen try to right herself as the nest descended on her with blinking eyes, spindly legs, and cavernous mouths.

**Hermione**

The broom sputtered before they could exit the forest. A strange poof of smoke erupted from the broom end.

"Fuck," Draco said. "We're going to have to land."

Dread washed over Hermione as Draco carefully descended from the sky, dodging old trees and branches that wanted to snag them from the broom. The castle glimmered in the distance. It would be a long trek through the forest.

The moment their feet touched the spongy soil, she heard the twang of a bow. An arrow whizzed by her head and embedded itself into the tree behind her. Hermione gasped and straightened. Malfoy tugged out his wand, tip glowing in the night.

Hermione carefully brought her hand up and pulled his wand arm down.

"Don't fight back."

"What?" Draco asked in confusion.

"Centaurs."

Just as she said that, they stepped from the trees. Their hooves snapped branches as they walked closer, encircling them. They trotted in practiced formation, rotating around their bodies. Malfoy placed an arm in front of Hermione's chest, as if to hide her. His eyes flicked around, trying to keep them all in view, but it was impossible.

"What do we do now?" Draco asked under his breath, so quiet only she heard. The centaurs stopped and all of them pulled their bows at the same time. The pliant wood creaked as the string was pulled taut.

"I don't know," she said, attempting to keep the fear out of her voice, but her whole body trembled.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Draco hissed into her ear. "Aren't half-bred beasts your specialty?"

"Shut up, you imbecile, unless you want them to skewer us to the trees. Don't make any threatening movement."

Draco glanced at her from the side of his eye and nodded. He was a prat, but he knew when his life was on the line.

Hermione looked for Firenze, their old divination professor, knowing he sympathized with humans occasionally. But she did not see him. He had been cast from his colony for working with humans, and she was not sure his status among the herd anymore.

She recognized a few from the time they carried off Umbridge in the forest. Magorian, the presumed leader, with his chestnut body and black as midnight hair, grimaced at them. The centaur next to him was a striking shade of black from the tips of his hair to the hooves on his feet. He looked wild and unfriendly. She remembered the name that Harry told her—Bane. Though without being told, she knew this centaur held no love for humans.

He tilted his head when he noticed Hermione, studying her hard.

Centaurs were natural born seers. Many of their actions were based off how they would affect the future. If it held no consequence, they would do what they wanted.

"You dare enter our domain?" Magorian asked. He had a regal bearing, tall and proud. His hair fluttered with the gentle breeze. "You're breaking the new peace accords the wizards struck with our kind."

The ministry just drafted a new bill granting the centaurs the innermost of the Forbidden Forest. The soil beneath her feet _almost_ belonged to the stately creatures she once thought just resided in Greek mythology. But it had not passed as law yet, challenged from the wizard purists, who didn't believe in granting magical land to beasts. Though Hermione surmised it might not be such a good idea to state that out loud.

"Our broom malfunctioned. We had no choice but to land. If you let us, we'll be on our way and back to Hogwarts," Draco said. He held it aloft for the centaurs to see. The repairs made it look new, even though the inner core was cracked. Draco lowered it after a moment, realizing the statement did not help their case.

Bane gave a snort and pawed the ground with a violent strike of his hoof.

"He's lying," he said. "Just like all his kind. He's a trespasser, walking on our lands, and should be punished for his crimes."

"No—" Draco started but Hermione pinched the side of his ribs, and he shut up. The bows made a groaning sound as they were pulled even tighter. She read once that their arrowheads were made of a special magical stone that did not shatter easy.

"There's something on the robes," Magorian said. "I smell it on the wind. It reeks like poison…" he gave a great sniff, mouth open as if tasting the air. "It's blood. You're correct, Bane. Theses humans are poachers."

The whole herd shivered in unison with anticipation. Before they let loose their arrows in a deadly volley, Hermione threw both hands up in a defense position, showing she meant no harm.

"It's Acromantula blood."

A few of the younger centaurs took a step back at the word. Just the mention of the spiders brought a palpable tension to the clearing. The centaurs and the Acromantulas were mortal enemies. The giant spiders liked to snatch their young, considering the foals a delicacy.

Bane sneered but puttered forward, his hooves snapping twigs and leaves as he went, until he stood in front of Hermione. She had never seen a centaur so close before. Even Firenze kept a certain professional distance. He carried a musty odor that reminded her of wet hay. Silky black skin transitioned seamlessly into a gleaming coat.

He stared hard into her eyes, as if trying to read her future. He gave a little snort, running his finger along the edge of her jaw. It came off with a line of gooey blood. It wasn't human, but dark and viscous.

He placed it in his mouth and then spat it on the ground.

"The little human is telling the truth," he said. "There are still wonders in this world."

Bane walked backward, clutching his bow and arrow under his left arm. When he reached the rest of his herd, he aimed his bow again, but this time for Hermione's heart.

"You have our thanks for killing one of the arachnid monsters," Magorian said.

"We didn't kill just any Acromantula," Draco said beside her. "We killed Mosag."

The centaurs burst into sound and movement. Crunching leaves with their hooves, whispering to the one beside them.

"I don't believe the pale one," Bane hissed. He kept his arrow nocked and aimed towards Hermione. His eyes tilted downward. He didn't hide his disdain. One lip edged upward to show his white teeth.

"Lower your weapon, Bane." Magorian said.

Bane obeyed but did not seem happy about it.

"They may have killed Mosag, but they still trespassed." Bane struck his hoof again in irritation. "I do not trust humans to tell the truth. Let us keep one until what they say is confirmed."

"I assume you want the female," another centaur said with bright red hair.

Bane gave a nod of his head.

"There's something wild to her. Her magic is strong. I'd like to study her closely to see if her fate is linked to hers."

Draco straightened and wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist.

Normally, centaurs mirrored humans in their ideas of civility. In fact, many scholars believe their intelligence to be superior to wizards, though most of the studies have vanished due to prejudice.

However, when provoked, Centaurs have been known to kill and rape humans. Hermione always wondered what Umbridge endured when carried off by the herd. She heard rumors of an assault but did not know the details.

"You won't be taking her anywhere," Draco said.

"My arrow will be in your heart before you can even lift your wand," Bane growled.

"You'll stop because we're connected with the Anima Vinculum spell. Here in the forest, the old magic doesn't like to be tampered with. If you separate us too far, it will snap the magic and injure all the parties involved."

Bane's jaw tightened, obviously not liking what he heard.

Hermione paused, not understanding what Draco talked about.

"Show us," Magorian demanded.

Draco waved his wand, and the magic erupted in a golden haze. The brightness dimmed until all it showed was a glittery line of magic connecting Draco and herself. It dug into their chests, as if roots to a tree.

Hermione heart dropped to her toes in understanding. They were still connected! She wanted to smack her forehead with the horror. How could she have forgotten to take it off?

She found the old grimoire in her bookbag on the Hogwarts Express, having no idea how she obtained it. Finding random books was never a good omen since Tom Riddle's diary, and she almost threw it in the fireplace, but with dismay, she found her curiosity was more intense than her common sense. Hermione swore the book sung to her, even though the few spells she could translate bordered on dark magic, and much of it was very old, requiring blood and bones of ancestors, leading Hermione to suspect it had once belonged to a strict pureblood family.

_A__nima __V__inculum__. _It was a complicated spell, located on page twenty-two, and she was only able to translate the first half. Hermione practiced it in her room for hours at the beginning of the school year, like she did most magic she couldn't master. She thought it was just a legal version of the Imperius curse, much less strong, but still bordering on dark magic. She used it on a stupid whim, wanting Draco to know what it felt like to be under her control. But now Hermione realized she knew nothing about the spell linking them.

However, Draco did. He twisted his head a fraction and gave a cruel smirk.

"Very well, young humans," Magorian said. "The old magic on you is surprisingly strong. You have given us no choice but to let you pass through unmolested. Bane, I want you to see them safely to the half-giant."

Bane clenched his jaw, but in the end, he gave a nod of his head in acceptance of the command.

The hand on Hermione's waist loosened. Hermione dared not look at Malfoy now, dared not risk snapping the tension zipping through the atoms in the air.

Magorian gave a slight bow to his head as the centaurs disappeared behind the tree line as quick and silent as they arrived, blending into the shadows. But she knew they still watched her, the whites of their eyes giving an occasional flash of sentient activity behind the camouflage of dark, gnarled branches.

Bane walked forward with his head held high, shaking his magnificent mane of inky black hair. He refused to see if they followed as his hooves clopped off past a random tree. Hermione and Draco hurtled after him.

**Draco**

The beast didn't talk the entire journey through the forest, and Draco was grateful for that. He held no love for their kind. The legend goes that his great great great grandfather, Septimus Malfoy, ventured too far into the forest on accident and was shot through the heart.

Not only that, but he had been butchered into parts, his entrails strewn along the edges of the forest as warning for other trespassers. Since then, their family upheld the promise to bring the centaurs to justice.

They may look like humans, with sentient thoughts that mirrored their own, but they were base, savage creatures and did not deserve the same rights as wizards.

Sweat pooled under his heavy robes. He tried to minimize his discomfort, knowing Granger would never let him live it down. She wore sinful trousers that sucked to her legs as if painted on, showing every dip and curve. He had to admit he appreciated muggle clothes on witches: the cut showing a patch of skin, just tight enough to entice, just loose enough to let the imagination wander. The underclothes that cinched all the parts in the right direction,

The first time he ever saw muggle clothes he was six and walking through Diagon Alley. He pointed to a woman with bright red hair and lips, her breasts spilling out the top of a skin-tight shirt and asked his mother if that was what a whore was. Proper pureblood witches covered their bodies, so he had never seen so much skin being flaunted openly. His mother had given one glance at the woman and frowned. "Yes, Draco, that's a whore. Be sure to stay far away."

Maybe that's when his fascination began. There was something wild to the muggleborns, the way they charged around without care to their strict traditions. The instant Hermione barged into his cart on the Hogwarts Express demanding to know if anyone had seen Longbottom's toad, he knew she was one of _those_—the girls he shouldn't associate with.

He tried to obey. He really did. But his parents spoiled him rotten. He had never been denied anything no matter how outrageous.

And then they told him he couldn't have something. _Just one thing._ He was okay with the demand at first. Until that something turned beautiful, with golden skin, and shimmering eyes, with an intellect to match his own, with magic spilling from her like perfume.

He couldn't resist the dangling temptation.

He glanced to the right, viewing the mudblood in question. She pushed a branch out of her way, giving a huff of a breath, showing the exertion was getting to her. Bane set a brutal pace, not caring if they fell behind. His tail swished in front of them as he dodged things with grace that somehow tangled into them, as if the forest wanted to punish them for the stupidity to enter in the first place.

He thought it would never end until the forest suddenly cleared, giving a breathtaking view of the Hogwarts skyline, the stars glittering in the sky. Hagrid's hut chugged out smoke just feet from them. For the first time in Draco's life, he was grateful to see the insipid half-giant.

Bane stopped at the tree line. He cradled his bow and arrow near his chest.

Draco stomped past, not even giving a nod of his head to the beast. Was he supposed to be grateful the centaur didn't skewer him through the heart by walking on land not even legally theirs to begin with?

But, of course, Granger turned and shifted from foot to foot.

"Thank you—um, well for leading us through…"

She trailed off with the severe glare Bane gave her.

"You're a catalyst." Bane growled the word like a curse. "Both of you are. It is only a faint glimmer in you," he nodded his head towards Draco. "But it shines like the sun from you."

"I'm a—what did you say?—a catalyst?" Hermione looked like a fish thrown on land, mouth gaping open.

"A catalyst. Magorian saw it too, but he left it alone, as he does much of things to do with fate. He believes we shouldn't tamper with what is to come." Bane took one menacing step forward, and Hermione stepped backward and almost stumbled except Draco caught her elbow to steady her. "But I belong to the old guard. Centuries ago, my ancestors used to scry the stars and when a catalyst occurred, they scrutinized it carefully to ensure it did not threaten our kind."

"So you think I'm a threat to your kind?"

Draco gave a snort. The centaur didn't know Granger was the champion of the degenerates and hopeless. If he wanted to find the true threat to his kind, he should look at Draco, especially since it was his father's ultimate goal to buy out the land of the forbidden forest and expel any magical creatures aggressive to humans. Centaurs fell under that umbrella.

"I haven't decided." He walked backward, keeping his eyes on Hermione the whole time. If his stare could be a weapon, it would have already eviscerated her brain. "But I'll be scrying the stars for the answer. And if I discover you to be a threat, I'll carry out the traditions of the old guard. I'll exit the forbidden forest and hunt you until one of us is dead."

He nodded with the solemn promise, and despite himself, a shiver traveled through Draco, as if magic laced the words into an unbreakable vow.

Bane gave one severe frown and blended into the forbidden forest, swallowed back into his home. But his voice still carried beyond the trees and leaves.

"I have a feeling we'll meet again, young humans."


	13. Rule Breaking

**Song Suggestion**: Bishop Briggs- "Dark Side."

**Thank you everyone for reviewing. It's food to my soul. **

**Rule Breaking**

**Draco**

Draco knocked on the wooden door, carved with a depiction of the Hogwarts lake. The engraved mermaids broke through the wooden water and grinned at him with a mouth full of splintered teeth.

He almost gave up and went to bed, his weariness so deep he'd begun to daydream of pillows and blankets, but then Rosewood opened the door in a night robe and glanced at him, taking in his visitor with slow comprehension.

Draco pushed the bag containing the pincers in front of him. It was lighter than he expected it to be, and he made care not to press too tight. Even after death, their venom was potent. It had to bottled within two days, or it would expire.

"I take it you ran into complications," Rosewood said.

Spider guts still decorated Draco's clothes and hair. He had forgotten, and he reached up to give a cleaning spell, but Rosewood did it for him. A gentle blast of wind hit him. The guts vanished but the smell remained: a thick, acrid scent of death. After, Rosewood repocketed his wand.

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"And Hermione," Rosewood asked. "How did she fare?"

Anger spiked through Draco. He leveled his wand with the professor's face.

"If her name exits your mouth outside the confines of scholastic endeavors," Draco warned, "You'll find yourself rotting in a cell in Azkaban. You possess both the slime and venom, and now I have more dirt on you than you do on me."

One of Rosewood's lips jumped. He could have sworn he saw a flash of fear, but it quickly disappeared.

"Take care you don't lift the snake incorrectly. You're forgetting we're on the same team."

"I'm on my own team. Threaten what's mine again and—"

"Your father—"

"_Your father_…" Draco repeated in a mocking tone. "I don't believe you're working for my father in the first place, because he would never send me on the _errands _you did. In fact, I'd bet he'd be_ very_ angry to discover his heir fell into a nest of Acromantulas." Draco voice was laced with poison. Rosewood's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Therefore, you just used my father's name to manipulate me. To what end? I'm not sure. Maybe to get rid of me… maybe to test me. I'll find out soon enough." Draco walked closer and placed the tip of his wand at his throat. Rosewood raised his chin a little. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Who are you really working for?"

"What a little detective you are." Rosewood gave a frown. "You're acting like a Gryffindor… so disappointing. And my benefactor had such high hopes for you."

"I'm crushed with your criticism."

"Do you want to know why I accepted a position teaching pompous little brats like yourself?"

"Not really, but I believe you'll tell me anyway."

"One of the main reasons, among several, was to bribe you to our cause. As you stated so many times before, your money and pedigree give you a formidable position in society. So it leaves me in a quandary… how do I convince you when you so clearly hate me?" Rosewood narrowed his eyes. "Why did you agree to the detentions if you already caught on to the deception?"

"Because you could have involved the ministry."

"What's the use of power, if not to bend the ministry? No, that's not it."

Draco clenched his jaw. Rosewood was baiting him.

"Ah," Rosewood's eyes brightened with comprehension. "It wasn't for _your _reputation; it was for the mudblood's. You knew I had the power to sully it."

Draco didn't let any emotion play on his face, but Rosewood's face looked as if he found a bag of sweets, eyes shining.

"Leverage is a muggle word. Did you know that? It's a term used to explain the exertion of force used by an object. It pushes something in a direction you want it to go without using—"

"What are you going on about?" Draco tucked his wand in his pocket. This battle wouldn't be won by spells. "I'm too tired to unravel the convoluted thinking of muggles. I thought we were talking about Granger?"

"We are." He flashed his teeth. "Muggles, useless bugs that they are, can occasionally be clever. You see, Miss Hermione is now my leverage. With her, I can push you in any direction I want."

"I warned you about threatening me—"

"You don't believe me? Let's experiment." Rosewood straightened his robes, resting his hand near his pocket when the tip of his wand exited. "What would your father think about your dalliance with the Gryffindor princess?"

Draco's eye twitched.

"He wouldn't give a fuck. He had his own mudblood in his day. Several, in fact. Pureblood girls will suck your cock, but they won't spread their legs. Where do you think someone like me goes to get a nice fuck?"

Rosewood laughed out loud.

"I see you've thought this through, probably trying to convince yourself of any reason to keep her." He took a step forward. It took all of Draco's lessons in superiority not to follow instinct and take a step back. "But she's not just any mudblood, is she? She's _Hermione Granger_. So… if you become a nuisance, I'll tell Lucius you have your cock in the woman trying to put him in Azkaban. I'm sure he'll be understanding. Personally, I'd rather face a nest of Acromantulas than an irate Lucius Malfoy."

Draco felt as if he had been backhanded. It reminded him of the day Voldemort ordered him to kill Dumbledore. An iron cage crashing down, trapping him into someone else's plans.

Draco couldn't retaliate. Not yet. Not when he didn't know the identity of Rosewood's benefactor. There were too many unknowns, and Granger was in the crossfire. Especially since... Draco's head snapped up, finally understanding.

"Romania…" he said. "What do you have planned at the dragon reserve?"

"You'll find out as soon as you join our cause. Until then, it would behoove you to remember your father is an imposing figure, but he isn't the only one around. There are others with more bite and better venom." He gave a patronizing pat on Draco's shoulder he wished to rip off. "If you want Miss Granger left unharmed, I look forward to hearing your acceptance soon."

Rosewood's hand firmed on his shoulder, squeezed once, and then turned around and walked back into the room. The heavy door slammed in Draco's face, and his lips ended close to the carved mermaid that still bared her splintered teeth at him.

"Manipulating me will be the worst mistake you've ever made," Draco whispered into the wood.

**Hermione**

The next night Hermione walked beside Draco along the castle hallways. Their detentions were finished, but their head girl and boy duties remained. The night was a quiet one. They found some third year Gryffindors trying to pull a prank on the Slytherins by turning the floor just outside the dungeons into a gluey substance. If Draco hadn't been beside her, she would have left them alone, but instead she handed out several detentions and deducted house points.

The Gryffindors should be grateful that's all that happened, given the vindictive sneer Draco gave them. But in the end, he did not interfere with their punishment.

The silence pervaded the space between them as they walked along. The previous night's events festered like a wound, and neither wished to lance it.

The images haunted her: Draco falling into the Acromantula nest. Her hand gently touching the middle of his back. The sound of bows snapping. Bane's final threat.

_The golden thread connecting them. _

She scoured the Hogwarts library for information on the_ A__nima __V__inculum_ spell but found nothing.

After, she analyzed the book itself: heavy, thick, ancient. It's old English obscured much of its original meaning, and even a translation spell only unscrambled half the text. Many of the pureblood texts, even ones found in the Hogwarts library, had similar enchantments. But this one was more stubborn than any she had encountered.

The other odd thing was its cover didn't have a title but a symbol. A Dragon, one she didn't recognize from any species alive on the planet. Golden scales with intelligent eyes. It crawled in circles on the cover, staring at her as if cognizant.

It frustrated Hermione that the one thing she usually relied on to solve her problems, the endless knowledge of books, came up short. Her only answers resided in the ferret walking next to her, and she'd rather cut out her tongue than ask him for help. He'd probably agree to give her the answers in exchange for something tempting.

Hermione turned a corner and leaned against the wall. Draco stopped as well and raised one eyebrow.

The previous night's excursions exhausted her, every muscle sore, every bone creaking.

"I never thought I'd see the day Hermione Granger quit her duties before the day was done."

"I'm not quitting." Hermione opened the little purse on her neck and tugged out the Marauder's map. The paper crinkled in her hand, but she knew no matter what she did, it would not crumple like normal parchment.

"What's that?" Draco asked, not hiding his curiosity. He leaned against the wall next to Hermione, close enough she felt his body heat pressing against her shoulder.

"I'd rather not waste energy. Work smarter, not harder, my mum used to tell me." She placed her wand on the paper. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The ink appeared, a glorious rendition of magic. Even with all her skill, she never made something so simplistically clever.

To her relief, the only footprints out of place were hers and Malfoy's, almost overlapping they positioned so close.

"Bloody brilliant." Malfoy glanced at the map in rare wonder. His eyes sparked with greed and then a slow comprehension, as if solving some puzzle he'd been ruminating over for the longest time. "So this is how Potter was able to be such a sneaky bastard?"

"It was his fathers." Hermione decided it was now safe to spill Harry's secrets.

Draco studied the map for a long time, face set in a frown. Hermione wondered If Draco lamented Harry's death. Did he feel remorse for the boy who saved his life, despite being his enemy?

Before she could ask anything, Draco pointed to the map, placing a finger on the browned paper.

"Someone is out." Draco smirked after saying it, and Hermione almost dreaded looking at who the footprints belonged to. Then his eyebrows spiked upward, and the sinking feeling bloomed inside her. "Make that two people."

She willed herself to look. He was right, and it was worse than she thought. Ron's footprints walked out of Gryffindor tower, while Astoria Greengrass just exited the dungeons.

"Another clandestine meeting," Draco taunted, not bothering to hide his glee.

But Hermione's didn't hear him. Her thoughts gave a sudden swoop into darkness, reviewing the curses she memorized when the rest of the world slept. The dark ones—the ones purebloods felt like they owned. Ones that could twist intestines into a knot. Ones that could pull the stomach out through the mouth. Ones that could behead with a single slash of the wand. Not that she'd ever use them, but it felt good to think them.

It shouldn't hurt so much, not when she broke up with him. But somehow him meeting up with Astoria again felt like a deep betrayal.

_I'm going to convince you otherwise._

What utter bullshit. Had Ron always been such a cad? On further thought, she deduced the answer to be yes. She still hadn't forgiven him for abandoning her and Harry. His departure had almost broken Harry, had almost lost them the war, just because of his selfishness. To be honest, it was why deep down she always knew they'd never work. It was also why she found herself clenching her wand, the wound deeper than Astoria, trailing all the way back to the moment she lost her faith in Ronald Weasley.

Because she'd never abandon the ones she loved in times of crisis. The only thing that separated her from Harry was death itself. And even then, somedays she wished to crawl into the grave beside him, just to be next to her best friend again.

Magic charged the air around them, the torches flickered, the air alternated between bursts of cold and warm air.

Hermione pressed her wand to the center of the map and muttered, "Mischief managed", watching as the ink bled from the page and the edges folded up. She placed the map in her purse.

"So what do you want to do?" He looked genuinely curious.

"In times like these, I ask myself one question," Hermione gave a grin. "What would the Weasley Twins do?"

**Hermione **

They huddled in the alcove with the voyeur suit of honor. When they entered the tight space, the suit nodded at them in recognition. If Hermione didn't know better, she even thought she saw it somehow smile, though it must have just been a trick of the light.

They crouched low on instinct, shoulders brushing together. His expensive cologne smelled so good she could have drunk it like wine.

Hermione had her map out, studying the footprints. They were slowly leading towards them. By the distance and speed they traveled, the approximate location of the meeting would happen near this alcove if they continued at the same rate.

"So how does it feel to be like a Slytherin?" Draco whispered. "Is this the first time you've ever broken a rule in your life?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, subconsciously shifting closer to him so that he could hear her whispering.

"Oh please, I've broken more rules than you."

Draco gave her a look that she was full of shit.

"That's a bold claim for the little golden girl," he glanced her up and down. "Are you forgetting I'm a big, bad death eater? You're going to have to prove it."

Hermione thought for a moment, not because it was hard, but because there was so many to choose from. She'd start small.

"I've snuck out of Gryffindor tower since I was a first year. How do you think we've caught so many students out? I know all the good spots."

Draco sighed as if disappointed. "We've all done that. Even Longbottom managed once or twice, and he has the magical capacity of a squib."

"Well, I created Dumbledore's Army. That year a clandestine meeting in Dumbledore's name was very illegal. In fact, as I remember it, you had your nose positioned up Umbridge's arse, while I broke every single one of her bloody authoritative rules."

Draco looked as if he was starting to be amused.

"It may have been breaking rules at the time, but it was still nauseatingly heroic… _Dumbledore's army_. I can still barely stomach how you lot hero worshiped that old codger."

Hermione scrunched her nose in thought, letting her memories to the surface, the ones that made her feel licks of shame.

"The protean charm I used on the coins was inspired by the dark mark."

"Not really breaking the rules, but I'll admit it was a clever bit of magic. I don't think I've ever told you how impressed I was with it. In fact, I used a similar charm to interact with Madam Rosmerta." Draco flashed a grin as Hermione grimaced. The prick almost killed Katie Bell, and he had the audacity to look proud of that poorly thought out murder attempt.

"I jinxed the parchment for Dumbledore's Army," Hermione continued. "As you know, it left a permanent mark on Marietta Edgecombe's face for her betrayal."

"As Edgecombe was the one to betray you, I'm not sure I see any wrongdoing—

"I'm not finished," Hermione interrupted him. "No one was able to find a counter-jinx. Even Pomfrey failed at finding a cure. And they never would, because_ I_ was the one to create it. Marietta was so desperate she came begging in sixth year. I said I'd give her the counter-jinx the day she admitted in the Great Hall she was a lying, disloyal bitch who betrayed Harry Potter. So far, she's refused to do it, so I refuse to give it."

Hermione had never been more satisfied than when she saw the words SNEAK written in blistery pimples across Edgecombe's traitorous forehead.

The alcove became even more quiet, except for the occasional clank as the enchanted suit of armor positioned himself to hear their conversations better. Finally, she turned her head to look at Draco. He had one hand to his chin in thought.

"Hmm," he finally said. "I'm beginning to believe you. It's cold-hearted enough to make the worst Slytherin proud. I'm surprised the hat put you in Gryffindor."

"The hat considered Slytherin. It told me I was ambitious enough." Hermione was surprised she admitted that. She never told that to anyone before. "But I'd already read up on each house and knew that would be terrible for someone like me. And then it wanted to put me in Ravenclaw, but I begged it to put me in somewhere where I could make friends."

Draco pulled his head back in surprise.

"That's odd," he whispered. "I've never heard of a muggleborn being considered for Slytherin. Usually, only purebloods, and occasionally halfbloods are granted admission. Salazar Slytherin himself ordered it so."

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe that's why it called out Gryffindor instead. I thought for sure it would throw me in Ravenclaw. I was surprised at the house it picked."

"Any other naughty things I should know about?" Draco leaned against the edge of the stone, looking alluring. He wore his blond hair loose today, so it brushed in front of his mercury eyes. When he wasn't being a vicious ponce, Hermione could see why nearly girl in school magicked his picture somewhere on their dorm walls, sighing when he walked by like lovestruck fools. She spent so many years on the receiving end of his sneer and sharp tongue, determined to hate him, she never noticed how charming he could be when he gave the slightest effort.

Hermione found she liked surprising him.

"Well…" she gave her own little wicked smirk. "In fourth year, I trapped Rita Skeeter in a jar."

"What the fuck." He pulled himself off the wall and leaned closer to her. "Now that's the level of evil I'm talking about. Do tell me the whole story."

Before she could, Ron walked around the corner and Astoria walked around the other.

And Hermione pulled out her wand to greet them.


	14. Tracing Scars

**Song Suggestion:** G-Eazy- "Let's Get Lost" Ft. Devon Baldwin

A/N: Someone asked if I'm going to make Hermione dark. I personally think it would go against her character, which is brave and idealistic. However, in this story, she will play with grey magic because she's curious, and I do believe she could cross a few lines of good/evil for those she loves.

**Tracing Scars**

**Draco **

Hermione reached in her purse and pulled out a jumbled piece of cloth. It looked ancient and even from here he sensed the old magic embedded in the threads.

"What is _that_?" He whispered low. The Weasel and Astoria were still far enough away they wouldn't hear them yet.

"An invisibility cloak."

"Salazar…"

_Harry's invisibility cloak. _The prick used it to spy on him on Hogwarts Express. When he discovered Potter had one—_of course, the golden boy would_—he almost stole it on an impulse of greed. He had always wanted one, but they were hard to obtain and extremely expensive. Not to mention, they usually spoiled after a few uses.

Hermione flicked it around them. It took a lot to impress Draco with magic, but as he looked through the hazy view, he felt like a first-year walking into Hogwarts. Despite the years of use, it looked brand new. The magic required to make it must have been truly remarkable.

Draco wrapped it tighter, tugging his boot under the edge, making sure nothing showed.

The Weasel's ugly face popped in front of them. Astoria came next. Tears streaked down her face. She certainly didn't look like a witch ready for a clandestine meeting. An angry Weasel stopped a foot from her with arms crossed and a heavy scowl on his face.

Just what was his little fiancé up to? The only thing he told her to do was snog the ginger baby troll. Whatever this what, she planned it against his wishes.

Astoria opened her mouth to say something and then closed it with a frustrated expression, as if the words stuck in her throat.

Draco froze, understanding Astoria was trying to do something _very_ stupid.

Astoria was a Slytherin by default, but under the façade she resembled a giant pygmy puff with the loyalty level of a small dog. And she possessed a clever enough mind to get around the Malfoy engagement ring enchantments, if she tried hard enough.

She held something in her hand, small and rectangular, and he recognized it immediately.

_That devious little bitch! _

"Well, are you going to explain everything like you promised?" Weasley asked.

"I'm trying. Just give me a minute."

Draco shook his head. Astoria may be clever, but Ron was denser than stone.

Hermione on the other hand…

Her eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed, viewing the scene with suspicion already.

"A lover's tiff," he whispered.

"I'm not sure." Her eyes zoomed to the object in Astoria's hand. "What is she trying to give him?"

"Who cares?" Malfoy said in a derisive tone. "It's obvious, isn't it? Astoria is trying to buy his forgiveness."

Just as she said it, Astoria tried to place the object into Ron's hand. But like Draco predicted, Ron withdrew his hand, letting it clatter to the floor.

"I don't want anything from you until you tell me what spell you put on me."

"I didn't put you under a spell." Astoria looked frustrated. "Here let me show you. I can't explain any other way." The tiny brunette leaned forward, wrapped her arms his neck, and kissed the Weasel hard on the lips.

Whatever the little Greengrass planned, it went awry, as Ron seemed to enjoy the kiss just as much with enchantments as without. Astoria straightened with surprise and then seemed to melt into Weasley's arms. Draco would vomit with the display, but it played perfectly into what he wanted.

"Are you going to get your revenge now?" Draco whispered. The torch closest to Hermione started flickering. "Or are you still the good little Gryffindor, letting everyone walk all over her?"

Hermione tightened her grip on her wand.

"Fred taught me this spell a long time ago," she whispered, her voice tight as a wire. "He created it especially for tormenting Ron and told me to use it when he was being a right prick."

She made a complicated set of swishes in the air, not uttering a single word. A small, dark cloud formed above Ron's head. It twisted and turned, getting larger and darker as the energy of the spell infused it with the correct amount of power.

"Is that dark magic?" Draco asked. It certainly felt nefarious.

"Almost. It's similar to light spells, but it requires anger, which is dark in nature. You'll find I was inspired by our adventures."

The wisps of cloud grew thick and bloated, until it burst, sending tiny dark wiggly dots raining down on the snogging couple.

Ron pulled back, glancing around in confusion. He brushed his air and then his shoulder. Astoria grabbed a black dot, about the size of a Knut in front of her eyes. Ron bent down to study it.

"Have I ever told you Ron is still deathly afraid of spiders?" Hermione said in an odd voice.

A shrill screech exited Weasley's mouth, a much higher octave than Draco ever thought the ginger could produce. His whole body went into a seizure, flinging arms and legs around, trying to shake the creatures off. They did not budge, except when swiped off.

"I used a sticking charm," Hermione said.

Astoria stepped out from under the cloud of raining spiders and used magic to remove hers, already clever enough to figure out the counter spell.

After realizing his efforts of removal weren't working, the ginger gave another high pitch scream and shot of down the hall as if a ghost chased him.

"My turn," Draco said. He launched a spell towards the retreating Ron, striking him in the back.

"What was that?" Hermione snapped.

"Calm yourself, Granger. Nothing too harmful. He'll just have a sudden desire to cuddle a pixie once he stops screaming. It won't go away until he succeeds."

Hermione snorted, a little louder than she meant to. She slapped a hand over her face, stifling the rest of her giggles.

It was a mistake. Astoria still stood in the darkened hallway. She glared at their alcove. Draco could bet galleons on Astoria knowing he was a part of the prank.

Astoria balled her fists, face set in a fiercer scowl than he ever thought she could produce.

"One day karma will bite you in the arse, and I'll be the one to give it your location."

She sniffed and turned away.

_Karma._ It sounded like a muggle word. The threat left him unfazed.

**Hermione**

When Astoria finally walked away, they glanced at each other, faces inches apart under the invisible cloak and then burst out laughing.

Hermione laughed until her sides heaved up and down, clutching her ribs in pain, unable to breath. She liked the sound of Draco's laugh, deep and raspy.

"I can't believe we just did that," Hermione gasped.

"I didn't realize Ron could scream like a girl."

It set Hermione off again. She leaned into Draco's shoulder for support, enjoying the ache in her lungs. How long had it been since she'd laughed like this?

She couldn't remember. The years sucked the joy from the air, as if a dementor followed them into the dark.

As the laughter faded, Hermione became aware she was hidden under Harry's invisibility cloak with Draco Lucius Malfoy. Neither of them removed the cloth, letting it shroud them in a hazy mist. The seconds became strained. She tried to avoid looking at him, but she found the temptation too much. When she turned her head, he already stared back at her. Their eyes met, lips inches apart.

"Am I evil enough for you now?" Hermione held her breath with the tension. "Perhaps more than you?"

"Sorry love," Draco eyes dipped to her lips. "If this is a villain contest, I'd always win."

He held out his left arm, rolling the sleeves of his shirt until it balled up to the scar on his forearm, puckered and mutilated.

Hermione reached out and touched the scar, tracing the outline, more like a burn now than an old tattoo, as if singed off.

"Does it still hurt?"

Goosebumps erupted in the wake of her fingers as she brushed the ridged edges.

"It burns sometimes as it fades."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, and Draco pulled back from her touch. He rolled down the sleeves until it disappeared under his shirt.

"Don't be," he said. "It reminds me of who I am."

"What utter hogwash!" She wasn't sure where the anger came from, but it boiled in her chest. "You were forced to take it, and Snape had one too."

"And?" Just from his voice, she knew he sneered. She didn't let herself look away from his eyes, the palest blue, so light it struck grey, like icebergs floating in the Atlantic. The more she got to know him, the more she knew the depth of him spanned deeper than he appeared. He was a boy raised in turmoil, cast adrift in freezing waters, slated to become something callous.

"_And," _she scoffed._ "_He didn't let the mark determine his fate."

Draco gave a low sound of disgust.

"My godfather died for his fucking mark."

"His tried to correct his wrongs. The whole time he—"

"So you think I can be good? Is that what you're getting at?" He rolled his eyes, face set in a condescending smirk Hermione wanted to swipe off, as if he discovered the secrets to humanity long ago and none of them were good. "I'm not sure you understand who I am. I may not be a murderous psychopath, but I'm still cruel and will do horrid things to get what I want. I'm not fucking saint Potter, dying to save the wizarding world. I'm a Malfoy. If you want to know who I'll become, look to my father."

"You don't have to be." Hermione sounded pathetic, but she still believed it. "And—and I don't believe you. I saw your face that day in your manor. Bellatrix asked you to identify us, and you didn't. You chose the right path then, even at your own peril."

"Again, you misjudge me." Draco breathed hard, as angry as her. "I merely didn't want to give the Dark Lord an easy victory. If you think he's bad at your occasional run-in, imagine living with the madman. Self-preservation, Granger. I certainly didn't lift a finger when my aunt turned her knife on you."

Hermione shivered at the memory as he lifted her arm and traced the word mudblood, exposed for the world to see. She felt the touch in her bones.

He may have been too much of a coward to help her, but she remembered locking eyes with him briefly, while she screamed. He looked as if he wanted to scream with her. It showed he contained some shred of empathy.

"You have some good in you," she whispered. "I refuse to believe otherwise, no matter how hard you try and convince me. You're not Voldemort… and—and you're _not_ your father. You're brave when you want to be and clever. You're selling yourself short if all you think you are is some lackey Death Eater."

Draco's chest heaved. His eyes were wide, as if he'd never been told he was good and brave and clever in his life, as if he had never been told he could be different than what was expected of him. He looked so taken off-guard Hermione couldn't help herself. She reached forward and pressed her lips to his. Just a simple peck, only letting herself linger a second.

Hermione pulled back with a gasp, understanding the importance only after it happened. It was the first time she kissed him without a bet, without coercion of any kind. _Just because she wanted to._ She refused to look away, even as her cheeks burned.

He looked back her, mercury eyes sloshing around.

"I'm not your hero." His fingers brushed up her throat and wrapped around the back of her neck. "But you almost make me want to be."

He tugged her into a deep kiss. Hermione let herself get lost in the feeling. The tides of fate tugged them together at every opportunity, and Hermione was tired of fighting a losing battle.

They both trembled, sensing something new and raw and real. His hands were in his hair, holding her head up, so she didn't sink into a puddle, and hers traced a path to his back, twisting fingers into his expensive silver-thread shirt.

"Tell me no," he said once their lips went a part. "Stop me."

"Why would I?"

"Because once we start, I'm not sure how I'm going to stop."

In answer, she kissed his jawline and down to his neck, suddenly feeling impatient. He groaned, and his hand went up to her leg, bunching the cloth of her skirt in his fist. She tugged off the outer robes down his shoulders and played with the buttons on his shirt and popped a few, letting her hand splay on the warm smooth skin of his chest, right over his racing heart.

"What are you so afraid of?" She taunted. "It's only a little fun."

She should be afraid of this. The image of them tangled under the invisibility cloak with him hard inside her was tempting to her too. Tempting enough, she might not stop either.

His face smoothed, and his eyes closed. When he opened them, he gave a victorious smirk.

"This isn't part of the bet," he said. "I doesn't have to mean anything."

It did mean something; she just wasn't sure what yet. And she didn't care enough to find out.

His fingers inched higher, bunching the skirt as he went. She was on her knees and spread her leg at the feeling. They brushed across the smooth soft skin of her thigh, until they reached their destination.

"What color are they?" He asked in a breathy voice.

She assumed he meant her knickers. Her voice almost caught in her throat as his firm fingers stroked over the cotton.

"Black."

He leaned forward until their foreheads touched.

"You always surprise me." He kissed her again, just as his fingers pushed aside the cotton cloth and pressed a finger inside her. First one and then another.

She bit her lip, and he curled his fingers, bring with it a sharp bolt of pleasure.

_Oh, he knew what he was doing._

"Beg me," he pressed hard and curled his fingers again. His other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her upright and tight to him.

"Why?"

"Because I like hearing it."

If he kept doing what he was doing, she'd say anything he wanted.

"Please," she moaned.

"Good girl." He stroked just the right spot as a reward, using his thumb to brush over a spot that made her tremble.

She wanted to see him tremble too.

She tugged on the belt until it popped loose and yanked on the buttons until it let just enough room for her slender hand to reach into his dress trousers. Draco rocked his hips to help her inside. Her fingers found his length, wrapping around the width. He was smooth and firm, just like the rest of him. And when she brushed up and down with firm, practiced strokes, Draco hissed against her mouth, "Fuck, just like that."

They spent several minutes like this. Him pushing his long fingers inside her, stroking just the right spots, while she grasped his length, learning the feel of his body. Using his involuntary gasps to lead her way.

A frantic energy burned along her skin, until their movements became almost violent. Draco came in her hands with a loud groan just as the sensation winged out insider her.

"Say your mine," Draco panted into her neck.

She almost did what he asked, drowning in pleasure, but then her world exploded. She shivered as the aftershocks rocked through her. Hermione gripped Draco's shoulder with her free hand, digging in her nails.

Hermione let herself a few more seconds of basking in the wonderful sensation before scrambling out of his hold. The cloak ripped off them. Draco's shirt and pants gaped open, his belt loose. Little welts lined his throat where she bit him in her pleasure, and his hair was mused, lips swollen. She assumed she looked similar, skirt hitched around her thighs, the scent of arousal in the air.

If anyone caught them, there'd be no denying what they just did.

_Say your mine._

The demand scared her. He sounded as if wanted to extract a promise from her.

It brought everything into focused. Made her realize what she just did and with who.

"How did you know about the spell?" She asked, lancing the boil brewing between them. The thing they both avoided speaking about today.

"You really want to do this right now?"

"Answer me."

His eyes flashed and then his face set in harsh, cruel lines.

Draco buckled the belt on his hips, sending a quick cleaning spell to both himself and her.

"If you insist on ruining the mood, I'll play your game. But I won't answer that question yet." He looked at her purse, as if the answer rested within. "The better question is how do _you _know about the spell. It belongs to purebloods… so how did it get into the claws of a muggleborn witch?"

She refused to mention the grimoire she found. At least, until she was finished studying it and finally figured out where she got it from in the first place.

"There's nothing about it in the Hogwarts library," she continued, ignoring his inquiry. "Which makes me think its dark magic."

"Couldn't resist a research project, could you?" Draco sneered. "Stop looking. You won't find anything. And it's not dark magic. Didn't you hear me explain it to the centaurs? It's old magic, back when there was no light or dark. When magic was its purest before muggle ideology fucked with it. Maybe the smartest witch of our age should be careful messing around with spells she doesn't understand."

Hermione stood up, straightening her skirt, and so did he. He leaned against the stone wall beside him. To her surprise, the voyeur suit of honor straightened as well. Despite him not having a true conscious, she felt her cheeks heat with a blush. Draco didn't seem to care.

"If you must know," Draco continued, "It's a binding spell. Soul to soul. Its magic originated from the Neolithic pagan sites, like Stonehenge, Castlerigg, and Calanais. Dangerous to play around with, and the results are usually permanent. With each interaction we have, it strengthens."

Hermione's magic reached out and felt the cord attaching them. Now that she knew it was there, it was easy to find. It almost zinged the air between them as it began to glow until it blazed along the hallway. The suit of armor made a few creaking movements, reacting to the ancient magic. The atmosphere thickened, surprisingly darker than modern magic.

She remembered what Draco told the centaurs. If she severed this wrong, it could snap, and the magic explode around them, causing destruction as it went. She had removed it once, but it had been weak then, a single thread. Now she could she the multiple threads of magic curling around each other, giving strength to the spell.

"Take it off," she demanded, knowing the complexity was a surgery she couldn't perform without understanding it better. It was beyond her knowledge, but she doubted it was beyond Draco's.

"Not yet," he said. "I find I like being linked to you. There's so many possibilities to explore, dreams to play out."

"What do you mean?"

Draco stuck the tip of his finger, the finger that had been inside her, and placed it into his mouth. He sucked as if savoring the flavor, then he pulled it out with a pop and smirked.

"Like, Honey, Granger. You taste like things I shouldn't have."

He shoved off the wall, gave a sinful wink her direction, and walked away before she could respond, tucking his hands in his pocket, whistling as he rounded the corner.

_You taste like things I shouldn't have. _

It was only after he disappeared that understanding slammed into her. He had been in her daydreams, posing as a fantasy. He used the link… though the projection of the daydream must have been an extra spell.

The rage cooled as she thought. Yes, she had thought it a harmless fantasy, and yes, she never invited the real Malfoy to be included. But she couldn't let the subterfuge rattle her.

She picked up her purse and opened it, reaching in to pull the old grimoire out. It lay heavy in her hand as she brushed the frayed edges in her hand, running her hand along the spine with the reverence it deserved.

It held the secrets denied her kind within its pages. The ancient magic sung by the pagans on the hills of their burials: wild, chaotic, and dangerous.

She'd crack the translation code, if it was the last thing she did. And she'd master the strange magic: the lack of wand movements, the rhythmic chanting. It was a different type of magic than she was used to. Each time she dabbled with it, it threatened to burst into a firestorm around her.

In the end, she'd show Draco Malfoy she didn't need to be a pureblood to master the old magic.

She placed the book carefully into her purse and began walking down the opposite way, following Ron's staggered run back to the Gryffindor tower.

Her foot struck something, nearly tripping her. Hermione stumbled but righted herself. Glancing down, she saw a small rectangular object next to her toes. It glowed onyx black in the flickering light of the torches lining the hallway.

Hermione reached down and picked it up, short and smooth in her palm.

It was the thing Astoria tried to pass off to Ron. Hermione reviewed the conversation in her head, acknowledging something didn't feel right. The interaction might have ended with a kiss, but it started with a tears and Astoria trying to convince Ron of something.

Hermione followed instinct and tugged off the top. It separated into two pieces, and Hermione twisted the bottom, watching as the tip of lipstick careened upward, gleaming red and glistening.

_Why the fuck was Astoria trying to give Ron a tube of lipstick? _

She didn't know the answer, but she did know one thing…

This time she'd solve the mystery.


	15. Power, Reputation, and Blood

**Song suggestion:** Ryan Caraveo- "Pumpkin Pie" (1st part) To Kill a King- "Bloody Shirt (Bastille Remix)" (2nd part)

I'm so stoked I have so many followers for this story already! Please review if you liked this chapter.

**Warning:** This chapter will contain depictions of death. So buckle your seatbelts. I tried to make this story lighter than my Hunger Games fic, but my mind is just a little fucked up.

**Power, Reputation, and Blood**

**Hermione**

The train rumbled underneath her on the way to Romania. Two hours into the trip and the compartment rattled open. Hermione held her breath, not ready for the confrontation. She had avoided Draco since the day he licked his finger, saying she tasted like honey. She wasn't sure if she was angry, embarrassed, or if she wanted him to do it again. And until she untangled the feeling, she didn't care to see his stupid, smirking face.

To her relief, Callum, the seventh-year head, stood in the door to her compartment, shifting weight from foot to foot.

Both Callum and Clara won for their year, which wasn't a surprise.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?"

"Sure," she said slowly.

Callum seemed declawed compared to Draco, but he was still a Slytherin.

The boy lowered himself into the seat across from her, glancing out the window at the rolling countryside. He placed both hands on his knees, but when the silence pervaded the space into something uncomfortable, the boy ran a hand through his dark curls.

"Are you excited to see the dragons?" He finally asked.

"I'm more excited to see Charlie Weasley," Hermione answered. "But yes, the dragons will be a treat to view."

"All my friends growing up wanted to be quidditch players, but I always thought it would be more fun to be a dragon tamer."

Hermione studied his features: grey eyes, olive skin, dark hair, tall, slim build with broad shoulders. He looked like somebody; she just couldn't pinpoint who. Being a Slytherin, he had at least partial pureblood ancestry. Coldness went through her when the question popped into her mind—was he the son of a Death Eater?

"What's your last name again?"

Callum's jaw gave a slight clench, as if grinding his teeth.

"Mason."

Hermione reviewed the Death Eaters in her mind, even the obscure ones. But she had never heard of Mason. Maybe it was his mother that was the pureblood.

Hermione shook her head, loosening her paranoid thoughts. She had to constantly remind herself she was no longer in the middle of a war. Not everyone was out to kill her. And so what if his parent was a Death Eater? Did he not deserve a chance to step away from the darkened shadow?

She decided to offer out an olive branch.

"I can introduce you to Charlie, if you want."

Callum's face brightened.

"That would be fucking awesome. I actually kept his chocolate frog card."

"He has a chocolate frog card?"

Callum nodded and dug through his satchel, taking out a purple card with Charlie's handsome grin and dark red hair on it. A baby green dragon perched on his left shoulder.

"Merlin help us all. Do me a favor and don't show that to him." She nodded at the card. "It will expand his already giant ego, and I'm not sure how much bigger it can get before it bursts."

"He's a bit of a legend, even among the Slytherins."

"I've heard."

During his Hogwarts years, Charlie was top of his class, quidditch captain, prefect, and a prolific playboy. After Hogwarts, he went to Romania and quickly became one of the youngest Dragon Tamers in history.

"Do you think he'd let me see a dragon up close? I've been dying to study the Peruvian—"

The door to their compartment slid open, cutting off Callum mid-sentence.

Draco walked in. When he saw the other occupant in the cart, his eyes lowered and darkened. "You're in my spot."

Callum's face smoothed into indifference. That emotionless expression must have been taught in the dungeons because she didn't know a single Slytherin who hadn't mastered it.

"Very well." Callum scooted over to give Draco the window seat.

"If you must be dense, I'm giving you the hint to leave. Me and Granger have a few items to discuss."

Callum held Malfoy's gaze for a moment, a brief glimpse of defiance, before giving a quick glance at the countryside and standing in a smooth movement.

"Wait," Hermione said. "We were having a lovely conversation. You can't just kick him out."

"You'll discover I can." Draco plopped down into the now vacant seat. "My house is built on a hierarchy, and I rule with impunity. Now close the door behind you, Mason."

"At least let us finish our conversation."

Draco curled his lip, grey eyes sparking.

"Fine," he said. "You have one minute."

She gave Callum her sweetest smile. She wished to stab Malfoy just a little, make him pay for manipulating her.

"So Callum… since Malfoy is _rudely_ interrupting us, maybe we can continue this conversation during a Hogsmeade trip. At the Three broomsticks, perhaps?"

"Just to be clear… will this be a date?"

Hermione hesitated. It wasn't what she was going for, but it served her purpose.

"Sure."

Callum's smile stretched across his face.

"Three Broomsticks, it is then." He put one hand on the door. "See you later, Gran—"

"Your time is up," Malfoy spat.

It wasn't until Callum nearly bounced out of the compartment did shame creep up on her. Yes, he was attractive, but she wasn't really interested in him. She spent so much time getting worked up over Draco and his manipulations it was a hard pill to swallow to realize she wasn't much different, in the end.

Draco pulled his dragon hide boot up and placed it on his knee. Both his arms stretched out on top of the seats. His eyes stayed lowered, roving over her features, as if trying to solve a difficult puzzle.

Hermione wished to look out the window, but she found she couldn't break his stare. The silence pressed on her, until she couldn't stand it anymore.

"For someone who wanted to talk, there's a lack of words in the encounter."

"You're angry with me."

"So observant. I should award you house points."

He finally broke the stare. He flicked at the edge of his nails, as if he'd ever get his hands dirty in the first place.

"This is about the dream, isn't it?"

"I deserve an apology."

"Apology?" He tilted his head. "For giving you what you begged for? If I remember correctly, you certainly enjoyed my tongue from beginning to end."

"Draco…"

The use of his given name seemed to jolt him a little, as if sparked by electricity.

"It wasn't real," he said. "If you allow me to recreate it in real life, you'll understand it was imagination and shadows. Just like all dreams, it just mimics conscious thought. With the spell I used, I couldn't have even been there if you weren't already thinking of me."

"That's the sorriest apology I've ever heard." Hermione gave a snort of a laugh and gripped the red cushion of the seat in her fingers. "It's as if you've never been taught manners… which given the family you grew up in, I'm not surprised."

Hermione tried to keep angry, but found that the longer she interacted with him, the more she remembered the way they stared at each other under the invisibility cloak.

"What can I give you to make you feel better?" Draco asked.

"Are you trying to buy my forgiveness? I'm not sure you understand intrinsic value. Some things can't be bought."

"Everything can be bought," Draco said. "It just requires the correct exchange."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Give it to a Malfoy to think forgiveness had a price tag.

"If you think a pretty bauble will soften my heart, you're in for disappointment. Even a rare book wouldn't tempt me this time."

"Don't insult my intelligence. Of course, I'm not giving you jewelry. You wouldn't appreciate it anyway. I could give you a fake, and you'd never know." One hand went to his robes and tugged out his wand. "How about I take off the spell connecting us? Would that soothe your ire?"

"You'll disconnect us because it's the right thing to do, and because if you don't, you'll find yourself on the unpleasant end of my wand."

Draco's gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Fine," he said. "I'll undo the curse, which—I must remind you—you placed on _me_. And then, because I'm magnanimous, I'll give you one more thing. Anything you want."

"Anything?" Hermione asked. "That's broad. And dangerous. What if I asked for something like your first-born child? There's fairy tales in the muggle world warning children of deals like these."

"I trust you not to be psychotic and ask for something completely Gragnerish."

"Grangerish?"

"Something wholesome and useful," he explained. "Prove me wrong, if you must." He gave a wave to his wand, and one of the cords of magic popped. It felt as if a rubber band snapped on her chest.

"No, you're right. I wouldn't want your first-born child anyway, especially if turns out like you."

If he was offering anything, she might as well take it.

It didn't take long to think of something. The conversation bugged her since they had it because as much as she wanted to deny it, he told the truth.

_"The magical world only respects power, reputation, and blood." He brushed his thumb over her lip. "You have two out of three, but no one will listen to you, unless you have the third." _

"Help me network," Hermione let go of the seat, unclenching her fingers. "And then _maybe_ I'll consider forgiving you."

He waved his wand, muttering under his breath, and another band of magic came loose. She resisted the desire to rub at her chest. The pain was sharper than the last time, leaving a dull ache. Draco's face scrunched, and she knew he felt the exact thing.

"Done," he said. "I'll teach you all I know. The old codgers will be salivating at your feet by the end of the day. Will that make you happy?"

Hermione crossed her arms on her chest and gave a sharp nod.

"It would."

He almost waved the wand to sever the last strand of magic connecting them, but he hesitated. "Are you still planning on meeting that wanker for Hogsmeade?"

"Of course."

Draco gave a fierce scowl. "What's the point? I know you did it just to piss me off."

"How would you know? What if I like him?"

Draco scoffed, though the words brought a dark shadow to his eyes.

"You don't. And if you did, I'd feel bad for the bloke. You'd chew him up and spit him out. Just call it off now."

"You're just jealous."

It was the wrong thing to say. His eyes flashed, his fist clenched, and his lips pressed hard together. His wand swiped hard, ripping the final cord. They both gasped with the pain and sudden, excruciating emptiness.

"So what if I am?" He hissed, hand clutching his shirt over his heart. "I don't like people touching what's mine."

She thought he would deny being jealous. What he admitted threw her off balance.

"I am _not _yours." Hermione gasped. Tears leaked out of the side of her eyes. She understood now why it was so dangerous to mess with. Horcruxes were the darkest form of soul magic, and it mangled Voldemort into something inhumane. Some scars didn't heal clean.

"Keeping telling yourself lies, Granger." He sneered, voice dripping with malice. "Maybe eventually you'll believe them."

"If you think for one—"

"We're equal in this. We're both stuck in this complicated quagmire."

"If you're suggesting it's an equal standing thing, what if I say you're mine?"

He paused.

"Then," he said carefully, "I wouldn't refute it."

Her heart jumped, giving pathetic flutters under her ribcage.

"Is this your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?"

His whole body froze as if someone stunned him, as if he hadn't considered the idea before. Hermione wished she could staple her lips shut. The question led her down a path she wasn't sure she knew the directions for, or if she even wanted to reach the destination. The thought of choosing to be with Draco felt like jumping out of an airplane without a parachute, hoping something would catch her on the way down.

Despite that, her breath strangled in her chest. People always said this feeling was wonderful, but it felt like torture.

"Would you say yes?" He asked finally.

The conversation dipped into something serious, feeling as raw and urgent as huddling under the invisibility cloak exposing their scars.

"If you can convince me."

A slow smile pulled at his lips, as if it was the exact thing he wanted to hear.

"You're like an elusive golden snitch," he said. "But I've been training all my life for the wait required in the game. By then end, you'll be in my grasp."

She rolled her eyes in response and looked out the window. But she couldn't stop a little smile from barely pulling up the edges of her lips while she watched the countryside whoosh by.

After that, they fell into a strange, comfortable silence. And as the train rocked, she found her eyes heavy and droopy.

Right before sleep, she could have sworn she caught Draco gazing at her with worry in his eyes.

Hermione understood a new truth: she was in deep trouble.

**Draco**

After stepping off the train, Draco gazed at the beautiful surroundings. Thick spruce trees towered above them, the soil spongy and fertile under their feet. The mountains rose into jutting columns, completely covered by trees.

Draco reveled in the mountain air, clean and fresh. They were in a massive ancient magical forest called Grimmock. Muggles were barred from it, and very few wizards ventured inside, except the very brave or the very stupid. It was best not to trek at random through, since the beasts and monsters within could curdle the most powerful wizard's stomach.

"I thought we'd arrive in a city," Hermione said beside him, rubbing sleepy eyes. "Not that I'm complaining. This is breathtaking."

"The Romania wizarding government made special allowances for this new reserve," Rosewood said, stepping off the train to stand next to them. Draco purposely walked between them. He doubted Granger noticed the silent exchange. Rosewood gave a sardonic smile before continuing. "Arriving in a city would complicate the security. We'll be walking to a portkey shortly." He looked up. "Oh, I see the reserve sent you a special visitor."

Both Hermione and Draco glanced up at the spot Rosewood pointed.

Charlie Weasley leaned against a nearby tree. He was shorter than Ron, but stockier, looking like a human boulder, made of stone and freckles.

In truth, Draco always secretly admired the second oldest Weasley. He told Hermione the wizarding world respected only three things: power, respect, and blood. Charlie had all three. It was a shame he never utilized them properly.

Hermione gave an uncharacteristic squeal. She launched off the loading platform and sprinted her way into the Dragon Tamer's arms. As Charlie wrapped his arms, both as thick as tree trunks, around his witch, Draco reconsidered his admiration. In fact, the longer Granger stayed in his arms, the larger his hatred grew, until he was seething.

So what if he was jealous? He had never had to share in his life, and he wasn't about to start now.

**Hermione**

The party continued through the forest, Callum and Clara and the sixth years winners were at the front with Rosewood. Hermione stayed by Charlie's side. He swung an arm around Hermione's shoulder.

"The ferret keeps glaring at me."

Draco stomped about ten feet behind Hermione while on their short trek to the portkey.

"He glares at everyone," Hermione said. "I'm starting to believe it's just his face."

"I used to have a terrible crush on Lucius. Something to do with the cane and that long blond hair. I wonder if Draco can be convinced into my bed before leaving."

Hermione snorted at the image he created. She was the only person on earth besides Bill and Ginny who knew Charlie Weasley, the infamous Dragon Tamer, was gay. Though she suspected Mrs. Weasley and George held strong suspicions.

"I'm fairly certain Draco's into girls." Hermione bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn't smile. "You'd have more luck with his friend Blaise Zabini, if you're looking for a Slytherin."

"A Slytherin is openly gay?" Charlie looked shocked. Wizards weren't open with their sexuality. There was a rumor that Dumbledore was gay, but it was all smoke and mirrors.

"Well, no," Hermione admitted. "But he's not exactly subtle. Just meet him, and you'd understand."

She accidently walked into Charlie's room when she stayed at Grimmauld place with the Order. After seeing him naked in bed with another man, she had clicked the door shut, burning with mortification, and ran off before he could respond.

Several days later, he approached her.

"Have you told Ron yet?" Dark circles had lined the underside of his eyes, skin pale as snow.

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's not my secret to tell."

Hermione didn't care if he was gay, but the wizarding world didn't hold any modern philosophy. It would be a black mark against the whole family.

After that, Charlie became a close friend, writing to her regularly. She assumed it was a relief to finally talk to someone without pretending.

Charlie grinned. "So I heard you broke up with Ickle Ronniekins."

"How have you heard about that already? It was only a week ago."

"You're underestimating my family's ability to gossip. Mother wants me to convince you to give him another chance."

"And are you?"

"Fuck no." He said. "I never thought you two made a match. And if you dumped him, you had a good reason."

"Thank you." Hermione had no desire to hear pleas and lectures. She still loved Ron, but something fractured between them, and it wasn't just Harry's death. Every time she saw his face, she remembered how he looked just before he walked away. The lonely, terrible nights that followed were some of the lowest in her life.

"So the last time you wrote me, you mentioned needing help identifying a dragon."

Hermione dug into her pocket and passed him a folded piece of parchment with a copy of the grimoire's cover. An exact replication, down to the way the dragon slithered around the edges with golden scales.

"Don't open it now. When you get the chance, owl me if you recognize it."

Charlie's eyebrows drew in a sharp W formation. He took the folded parchment and placed it in his pocket.

"Is this research for school?" He asked. "Or are you in some kind of trouble?"

"It's just a personal project."

He gave a gentle squeeze to her shoulders.

"My instinct is telling me you aren't telling me the whole truth. Remember, I've got your back, if you need it."

Hermione leaned her head into Charlie. "It's nothing. I promise. Just something I found in a book, and my curiosity can't let go."

Charlie still looked as if he didn't believe her, but he stayed quiet until they reached the portkey.

**Draco **

They arrived into a flurry of activity. Red and white tents dotted the surroundings like candy, each with a flag from around the world, showing the dignitaries sent from various countries.

Travelling bands of merchants set up carts and stands, filling the area with the scent of smoked meat and sugared bread. The children of the merchants played tag between the carts and serious wizards in a variety of colorful robes, representing the cultures of the world, milled about the campsite.

The dragons roared in their pens, with trainers running around the gates, putting out the small fires. Draco listed them as he saw them: the Chinese Fireball, the Ukrainian Ironbelly, the Antipodean Opaleye. Each with gleaming scales, looking slick as water, with wicked sharp teeth, and bad tempers. Only the massive Hungarian Horntail slept, tail curled against her belly. Each breath brought a tiny snort of fire.

They spent the rest of the day looking at the various dragons, visiting the Peruvian Vipertooth first. Callum hung close to Hermione and Charlie, but Clara found a friend from Beuxbatons and walked around with her. Draco followed Hermione but held back from their conversations. His mood darkened as he watched Charlie keep his arm either around Hermione's shoulders or on the small of her back.

They were awfully chummy.

_I'd be a terrible sacrificial virgin anyway. Mainly, because I'm not a virgin._

The words didn't bother him at the time, but now he imagined Charlie slipping his hand under her clothes. Did Hermione ever let the Dragon Tamer past her defenses? Would she allow it again tonight?

Draco didn't care if Hermione was a virgin, but he did care what she did from here on out.

He needed some way to separate them. Looking around the area, he spotted a small congregation of wizards to his right.

Perfect.

**Draco **

Hermione had her hands on the edge of a steel column, glancing into the enclosure of the nursery, when he decided to approach her. Small nests of dragon eggs rested on top of artificial warming stones. Some of them rattled and had small sections pecked out. Little jaws peeked out behind the shells. Some were already out, slimy with fluid.

"If you want to network, here's your chance." He pointed to the trifecta of wizards. "That's the new head of the Wizengamot, Walter Filibus."

She crinkled her nose.

"I've heard of him. He didn't serve Voldemort, but he certainly doesn't love my kind. Why would you try and introduce me to a bigot?"

"If you can win him over, you've won over the whole ministry."

Hermione arms dropped from the Dragon nursery, and she chewed the inside of her mouth.

"Don't worry so much," Draco said. "It's easy once you know what you're doing. The trick is to know their strengths and weaknesses before the first encounter."

"You make it sound like battle."

Draco glanced to the right. Callum had corned Charlie near the Chinese Fireball, peppering him with questions. He'd have to thank Mason sometime later. It seems Draco was always separating Granger from some Weasley or another. The whole family was a contagious rash that kept popping up and wouldn't go away.

Hermione took a step forward, and Draco stole the opportunity to place his hand on the middle of her back, like Charlie had. Except Hermione seemed to stiffen with the touch. He swallowed his irritation at the observation.

"Life is a battle. If you realize that too late, you've already lost. Capitalize on the fact you're a war hero and powerful."

Hermione didn't move away from his fingers, and when he gently pushed forward, she started walking in the direction he led her.

"You think a bigot can be dazzled enough to forget he hates everything about me?"

"How do you think Voldemort gained power? You think his peers didn't know he was a half-blood? They probably made his life shit at Hogwarts. At least, until he became too formidable to ignore. My own grandfather invented a fictious backstory just to delude himself to kneel."

Hermione seemed to consider what he said.

"So blood status is important, but power trumps it? At least, in rare cases"

"Correct… it's your first lesson in my world. And it's the most important if you even want them to tolerate you. You're a rare case, Granger. Trust me."

Hermione's pressed into his hand, as if melting into his fingers with the words.

The empty hollow in his soul where her magic used to attach still throbbed, and the only relief, he discovered, came with close proximity.

"So…" Hermione said. She watched the high society wizards with wary eyes. "What are things I need to know about him?"

"He loves quidditch. Roots for Puddlemere United. A bit of a fanatic."

"That doesn't help me at all."

"No," he said, unable to hide his amusement. "But he's also a studious fellow, with an interest in Potions."

He could almost see the light flaring in her brain, chugging out all sorts of ideas.

**Hermione **

"Walter Filibus," Draco called out. They had just walked up to the tight-knit group. They were laughing about something but stopped when the Malfoy heir held out his hand.

"Draco, my dear boy!" Filibus grabbed Draco's hand giving a hard shake. Several months ago, she would have missed the tightening around Draco's lips at the rough handling. Though his face was all cordial politeness. A cool indifference identical to Lucius.

"And who do we have here?" Filibus eyed Hermione. She attempted to keep the same cool as Draco, but butterflies fluttered in her stomach. How was she supposed to charm this man: someone who thought she was on par with an animal?

"May I introduce the illustrious war heroine, Hermione Granger." He pushed her forward with the fingers on her back. "She was recently awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class, for her sacrifices and bravery during the war."

"Ah," he said. "The brains of the golden trio… Or so it has been said."

"Albus Dumbledore believed she's the brightest witch of our age."

Hermione's cheeks flamed as Draco threw her a quick smirk. Hearing him list her accomplishments in a flattering tone made her feel as if she stepped into another dimension. His fingers burned like a heated brand on her spine.

Walter's eyes hardened at her name. The American and French dignitaries kept their silence but nodded their heads to her.

"What fascinating company the youngest Malfoy likes to keep," Walter answered. He seemed to be choosing his words.

"She's bound to storm the wizarding world upon graduation. I'd rather forge connections with witches that are both brilliant and motivated."

"Indeed." Walter placed both hands on his protruding stomach.

Draco slathered it on thick. Maybe too thick. Walter's eyes jumped between the two of them, as if deducing the relationship between them. Hermione hated he wasn't far off the mark.

"She's quite the fan of yours," Draco continued.

"Well, being the head of Wizengamot can attract—"

"Actually," Draco cut him off. "She's a fan of your work in potions. In particular, she was impressed by your theory of adding fly wings to Murtlap Essence to increase its efficacy."

This seemed to be the magic words. The tight stance around Walter's shoulders loosened, and his face brightened. His ruddy cheeks gave a toothy smile, as if excited about the opportunity to talk about potions. "So do you agree…" He faced Hermione. "That fly wings mixed with the pickled tentacles creates a stronger finished product?"

Hermione sent a sharp pointed elbow into Draco's side, unseen by the wizards in front of her, for putting her on the spot. She had never fucking read anything by Walter Filibus, least of all his ideas on fly wings. Draco flinched, but kept his charming smile.

However, even without context or research she found she was able to answer the question and add to it as well.

"Of course," she said. "I'll even suggest slicing the tentacles into quarters instead of halves would help the brew coagulate. Together the two ideas could finally create a sufficient pain potion the wizarding world is lacking."

Filibus blinked a few times at her, as if digesting the information. And then he tipped his head back and gave a booming laugh, his midsection jiggling in mirth as he did it.

"I think I agree with the late venerable Dumbledore. Miss Granger shows great promise. I hope to see you name soon in the ministry. We need bright thinkers like you."

Draco was right: her name sweetened on a pureblood's lips worked wonders.

Walter turned to the Malfoy heir.

"And Draco, I hope to see you in the ministry as well. It's a shame what your father is being put through. Until the matter of his trial is sorted, a position is always welcome for you. The ministry is bereft without a Malfoy in the halls."

And just like that, everything in Hermione went cold. She knew the Wizengamot was corrupt, but even the head of the trial itself showed bias to Malfoy.

She wanted to sneer. Of course, he wants a Malfoy in his pocket. What would the ministry do without the annual exorbitant donations?

"I have a few options on the table to consider," Draco said carefully. "But I've always thought the ministry was a viable career path for myself." He held out his hand and Walter shook it.

And then Walter turned to her and pocketed his hand before she could offer to shake it. The feeling that brought on—instant shame, fury, and a strange, yearning grief—almost broke the professional smile on her face, until she took a sharp breath and controlled her expression. It wouldn't do to get angry at every slight given to her for being a muggleborn, not if she wanted to break the glass ceiling in this world.

"It was interesting to finally meet you, Hermione Granger." He gave her a last assessing glance. "If you don't mind, I'm going to use the idea of cutting the tentacles into quarters for my next potions essay I'm submitting to the potions guild. I believe it will work brilliantly. Of course," he added, as if seeing the sudden thinning of her lips, "I'll give you credit."

"Sure," she said. What else could she do? It felt bitter handing off an idea, even if she just thought of it, to someone who wouldn't even shake her hand. She felt like a country during colonization, as the invaders stole the valuable resources, leaving the land destitute for the natives.

Malfoy's words haunted her. _ If you get a job in the ministry, it will be to file paperwork, and you'll stay there for the rest of your life. They'll mine your giant brain for ideas but never give you credit._

She held down the bitter feeling as the dignitaries shook both their hands, as hello and goodbye, giving short small talk, before parting ways as polite as possible.

"That went better than I expected," Draco whispered into her ear. His breath on her neck sent shivers across her body. She stepped away before anyone noticed how close they stood.

He frowned.

"Did it?"

"You have to understand Filibus is a staunch supporter of pureblood ideology. I've never seen him so warm to a muggleborn. Your brilliant addition of cutting the tentacles into quarters impressed him. Fuck, it impressed me. It's such a simplistic twist, I'm surprised I didn't think of it before you."

"He didn't shake my hand."

Draco gave a long, slow look.

"You can't move a mountain, Granger. You can only remove stone by stone."

"Unless you blast it with dynamite."

He gave a small laugh, shaking his head.

"Muggle words are almost another language. It sounds compelling. Say it again."

"Dynamite?"

"Mmm… compelling and delicious from your lips. Spew your muggle nonsense whenever you want." Draco gave a mock shiver, and Hermione pushed his shoulder. She wasn't sure when she'd ever seen him this playful, as if now that he was operating in his world, he felt at ease. "Come on," he quirked a grin that gave her heart a worrying flutter. "These old men are about as interesting as crumbling stone. Let's go eat. I'm starving."

**Hermione**

After walking around the various dragon pens and other structures throughout the reserve, Hermione and Draco ate at several long tables set out under the open air. Draco bought the food from the market stands. She tried to pay him, but he kept magicking the money back into her pocket. He came back with Shepherd's Pie and a giant jug of pumpkin juice, delicious rolls, and fresh fruit. For dessert, she almost let out a cry of delight as a cauldron cake appeared on her plate. Draco once told her the way she shoved the dessert down her throat was a disgusting display. But his eyes didn't leave her mouth, concentrating as he watched her lick the spoon.

"There you are," Charlie slid into the seat next to her. "We've been looking all over for you two. Where've you been?"

Callum wasn't far behind. He gave a wary glance to Malfoy before sitting down next to the Slytherin prince.

"Draco introduced me to Walter Filibus."

"Did he now?" Charlie slid his eyes to the Malfoy heir, who looked back at him with no expression. "Oh, Hermione, you have some chocolate on your face. Let me get it." Without taking his gaze from Malfoy, Charlie reached over and brushed off the chocolate, letting his fingers linger.

Malfoy whole face tensed, just for a moment, and then went back to his empty expression. Charlie's finger left her face.

"We've also been looking for Clara and Professor Rosewood. Both seemed to have disappeared." Callum chimed in.

Draco seemed on edge, despite his earlier playfulness. He gripped his spoon until his knuckles turned white, glancing around the camp.

"We'll need to find him soon," Hermione added, "We need to find our tent."

"Maybe we can have a sleep over tonight, Hermione." Charlie winked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Charlie suspected Malfoy's interest in her. She wasn't sure how he knew, but he was attempting to goad Malfoy into a response, and he was enjoying it far more than he should.

"Our tents are in the southern part of the camp. I'll show Hermione after we eat" Draco said, voice cold enough it could form snow mid-air. "And they are spelled to only allow one gender into each, like Hogwarts… Though maybe you secretly have the wrong parts underneath."

"Hermione, is it? On a first name basis?" Charlie glanced Draco up and down. "And if you want proof of my manhood, I can show you my giant dick. You seem like a wizard who'd like that."

Trust Charlie to throw in an invitation disguised as an insult, though Draco didn't catch it, instead he glowered.

"If your dick is as red and freckled as your face, it would only give me nightmares."

Charlie gave a bark of a laugh.

"You live up to every expectation I had of you. Though maybe not as sniveling as Ron painted you."

Draco opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by a giant explosion. A blast of energy hit the table, sending the occupants hurtling in the air. Hermione careened sideways, hitting into Charlie. His strong arms cinched around her waist and pulled her beneath his body, as a blast of hot air singed her skin. The residual heat felt like standing in front of a giant, blazing oven.

After the blast, Hermione lay curled under Charlie. The dragon tamer groaned, and they untangled themselves. The shock slowed them down, rubbing their arms and heads, trying to regain a semblance of balance. Hermione found it hard to hear, a ringing in her ears she couldn't shake off.

"What was that?" Charlie asked.

They stood, whipping out their wands on instinct bred from war, glancing at the chaotic scene around them. Witches and wizards sprawled on the ground, some injured, some unmoving. She didn't check to see if they were alive, afraid to find they weren't. One man in the distance burned upright like human torch. Blood splattered the tents and stands around her, everything blown apart or sideways. Wooden beams lay in tangled heaps, and pieces of fabric and dirt still floated from the sky, pelting the ground.

"Do you think it was an accident… or…"

Hermione couldn't make herself finish the sentence. Just the word brought horrible flashbacks: Lavender Brown's empty eyes as Greyback ravaged her neck, Molly Weasley weeping over her son's body, Harry's neck sitting at an odd angle. Vomit jumped to the lips staring at the carnage.

The world gained movement, turning into a blurred mass of people running in all directions. Screams rose in the air. The dark of the night added to the chaos. Hermione wasn't sure what to do or where to go, and her head still ached from the blast.

"Death Eaters." Draco stood at her back. She turned to look at him. Grey dust smudged his porcelain skin; he didn't hold weight on his left leg; and he looked unsurprised.

"How do you know?"

He managed to give her a condescending look.

"We need to get out of here." He ignored her question. "They'll come soon."

"There's no dark mark in the sky."

"There doesn't need to be one."

After the final battle, a few key Death Eaters went missing, alluding the Aurors. They functioned much like the terrorists in the muggle world, striking and leaving a trail of massacres behind.

She believed the urgency in Malfoy's voice.

"Where's Callum?"

"He's unconscious. We need to leave him."

Hermione ignored Malfoy and lifted away debris until she found Callum. A large gash slashed across his forehead, open and bleeding. She checked his pulse. His heart beat steady, and he took even breaths. But Malfoy was right. They couldn't bring him.

"We need to find somewhere to put him while he recovers."

Malfoy didn't look as if he wanted to do anything for Callum. In fact, he looked as if he wanted to do nothing more than flee. But he took one look at her anxious, stubborn face, hands on her hips, and he nodded.

Charlie and Malfoy each grabbed one of Callum's arms and dragged him to one of the overturned stalls. The placed him behind one and did the best concealment charm she could manage. She hoped it would last long enough.

"Where do we go now?"

"The Hungarian Horntail's pen," Charlie said. "I hand-raised her and she's given me her loyalty. The Death Eaters wouldn't dare mess with her."

Hermione nodded. It was the best they had. They couldn't stay where they were. They were sitting ducks waiting for the shotgun to be fired out here in the middle of the melee.

It was then that the Death Eaters appeared out of the forest with the black, tattered robes and skull masks, firing red and green curses into the crowd.

Charlie, Hermione, and Draco crouched next Callum's unconscious body, watching the slaughter.

"We can't stay together," Draco said over the cacophony of screams and blasts. "Three bodies make too big of a target."

Charlie nodded. "I'll go. The dragons will react better if I arrive first. Do you have Harry's cloak still?"

Hermione nodded.

Charlie reached forward and kissed Hermione on her forehead.

"Be careful," he whispered, dragging her into a hard bear hug. "We don't know what we're dealing with yet. Keep low and out of sight and reach the dragons as fast as possible."

Hermione nodded again, unable to speak, afraid she'd cry. Already a few tears rolled down her cheeks. She would never be used to the blood and screams. The terror of losing someone.

Charlie jumped away, disappearing into the dark and chaos. A flash of red and he was gone.

Draco grabbed her arm and twisted so they looked face to face.

"We can't meet at the Dragons."

"But Charlie—"

"Its too open of a target. Weasley will be okay with them, but we won't."

"Fine," Hermione said, seeing his point, "If you have a better idea, you better state it now." She motioned at the destruction around her.

His face grew oddly still and cold, looking more like Lucius than she'd ever seen him before.

"Follow me."

Hermione took the cloak out and flung it over them, as they wobbled off towards the multitude of stripped tents.

**Hermione**

"Why aren't the tents burning?" Hermione asked.

"Since the disaster at the quidditch world cup, most tents are required to be impervious to fire."

It felt strangely quiet over here. She wasn't sure if it was because most of the people were in the chaos closer to the merchants, or if something more sinister brewed beside them.

Draco and Hermione ducked and scrambled around the tents. A few rows over she heard a sharp scream and saw a death eater dragging a woman away by her hair.

"We need to help."

"Not until we know what's going on," Draco said.

They arrived at a tent. It looked the same as the others. Red and white striped, looking like a Christmas candy cane. Except it had a UK flag whipping on a pole attached on top. One of their tents, she supposed.

Draco took off the cloak.

"Malfoy, I know you think we need to hide, but I can't do that. We need to get back to the fight. Innocent people are being killed. I couldn't live with myself if I tucked myself away."

"I know that." He reached out a hand and cupped her cheek in a tender manner. "But you're just going to have to trust me."

"No—"

"Petrificus Totalus."

Her body froze, a fraction of a second too late. Her magic may be more powerful than Malfoy's, but his reflexes had always been faster.

Draco caught her before she could fall. He pulled her tight against him.

"It's for your own good." His breath warmed the side of her neck.

He held on for one second more, lips pressed to her hair just above her ear. Then he wrapped her up with the invisibility cloak until her entire body was covered and shoved her inside of the tent. She cracked hard against the ground, arm wedged under her body at a painful angle.

"There are things I must do," he said. "And your morals can't get in my way."

There was a flicker of something that passed over his features before they smoothed. She couldn't read it.

Hermione felt powerless as Draco straightened his cloak and walked away into the hazy smoke.


	16. Blood Sacrifice

**Song Suggestion:** Fever Ray- "If I had a Heart"

**A/N:** Thanks for all the reviews. Sorry about the week late update. Two reasons: this was a beast to edit, and Real Life was a bitch. I'd love some reviews to help me feel better.

**Warning:** Dark content ahead.

**Blood Sacrifice**

**Hermione**

Hermione didn't know how much time passed as the spell wore off. First it was just a twitch of a finger, and now she could move everything except her legs.

She couldn't see much, but she heard the chaos: the screams, the blasts. It filtered into the tent, freezing her blood to ice.

The darkness outside was interrupted by the fires, delivering an orange haze through the striped cloth. The flames licked her skin from here. The only thing that didn't send her into a panic was Draco's reassurance the tent couldn't catch fire.

Anger travelled through her veins like a virus.

_It's for your own good. _

The words stuck to her soul, refusing to budge. A large part of Hermione wanted to trust Draco, just like she wanted to trust most of humanity. But was he trustworthy? Why incapacitate her? Was it for her safety… or something more nefarious?

Still wrapped under the invisibility cloak, she saw a pair of dress shoes at the entrance of the tent. Her body snapped to attention to see her DADA professor place a hand on the edge of the tent flap.

"Hermione," Professor Rosewood said. "Come on out. It's safe now."

She didn't respond. Something was off enough it stilled her lips.

Why was this man walking around freely during a Death Eater attack? A streak of dirt smudged his face, but other than that he looked both uninjured and well-put together.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she ceased breathing with the stillness.

Rosewood examined the tent, dark eyes flicking over all the corners. He placed his hands behind his back with his face tilted to the side, as if in deep thought.

She was being ridiculous. This man was a professor, hired by McGonagall. He wouldn't want her harmed.

But before she could reveal herself, three Death Eaters marched up behind Rosewood. Blood splattered across one of the bone-white masks. They arrived as if on wind, stalking behind the professor like three jungle cat predators.

_I need to warn him,_ her brain screamed, but the Death Eaters stopped at his side without attacking.

"Have you found her?"

Hermione made an involuntary gasp.

_Rosewood was a Death Eater. _

Her body revolted at the discovery. She wished to lean over and let the sick feeling splatter out of her.

She placed a hand over her lips to prevent herself from making any more noise, but when she looked back at Rosewood, she realized it was too late. He stared right at the spot she lay. One side of his mouth quirked up.

"Now I have."

He muttered a spell, and a blast of icy wind hit her. She tried gripping the cloak to her, but the winds were hurricane strong, and the deathly hallow ripped from her body, leaving her exposed and shivering.

"I heard a rumor Harry Potter possessed an invisibility cloak." His eyes flashed to the ancient, crumbled cloth with greed. "A truly spectacular magical instrument."

"How did you find me?"

"A mutual acquaintance with blond hair and a famous last name."

"Draco," she deduced. "But—"

"Feeling betrayed?" Rosewood gave a smile that crawled up her spine. "You'll be interested to know he sold his loyalty so he could have his mudblood whore. Such a simple price. And fortuitous for you, as you'll come to see."

Hermione's insides wilted, like a flower dying. He didn't… he couldn't…

But how else could Rosewood have found her?

"Now," he continued. "You can give up without a fight. Or there can be pain and bloodshed." The Death Eaters held up their wands in anticipation for the second option. Two of them had masks smooth as glass. The third wore one of gleaming silver, with an intricate etched design, expensive and well-thought out.

A Pureblood. Maybe even one of the original Death Eaters. Hermione's muscles tightened as she searched her robe and pulled out her wand.

"If you want me, come and get me."

The tension in the air tripled. The only reason red and green blasts of light weren't hurtling toward her was because he knew she could respond with a significant amount of power. On the same note, if it had just been Rosewood, she would have attacked. But four against one was not good odds.

"Your hiding spot is clever." He motioned to the tent. "It won't allow males in the vicinity, which prevents me from forcing you out." He glanced at her hands, as if reminding himself of her power. Afterall, he'd seen her duel. "I know you don't believe me, but I don't wish to hurt you. A fight would result in unnecessary carnage and bloodshed." He glanced her up and down. On any other person it would be lecherous, but on him it looked calculating. "I believe we'll come to a sufficient understanding."

He motioned his hand and another Death Eater arrived with a struggling Clara Hightower. Honey-blond hair pulled loose from her ponytail, so it flew wild around her face. Her wide blue eyes leaked steaks of tears, and her lipstick smeared to the side. The Death Eater threw the girl to Rosewood's feet, and the professor bent down and gently led her up by her elbows.

"There, there, sweet Clara."

Rosewood pointed his wand at the seventh-year head girl's throat. His dark eyes sparked at Hermione, as if knowing he already won.

He found her weak spot easy enough. It had been her curse and her salvation from the tender age of eleven. Hermione always knew her inability to let an innocent person suffer would one day get her killed.

Not to mention, Clara Hightower was a muggleborn. If she didn't help her, no one else would.

"Please, Hermione," Clara barely whispered.

"Shh," Rosewood soothed her, despite being the one threatening her. "Don't cry. Hermione will do the right thing. She's smart enough to drop her wand and exit the tent slowly with her hands on her head…Because she knows if she makes _one ill movement_ then your head, precious Clara, will be separated from your body."

Hermione reviewed her options, tried to discover any way out of the situation, but she had nowhere to run, and even if she did, Clara would die.

Hermione dropped her wand, like he requested, and stood up, legs wobbly from the lingering spell. She took a deep breath, holding it until it hurt, and let it out slow. An old trick she discovered to keep her anxiety down while on the run from Voldemort.

Fear gave her nothing, but anger gave her purpose. She gathered the burning feeling in her chest, letting it simmer inside her.

She'd play this mad game with him, if he wanted. But he'd find that volatile magic flared in her veins. Here in this ancient forest, the veins of power hummed beneath her feet, calling to her.

Hermione dropped the wand, letting it plunk next to the invisibility cloak.

"That's a good girl," he said. "Now hands on your head and walk out slowly, one step at a time."

She'd disembowel him, turn his insides into liquid, scramble his brains like eggs. The Dark thoughts didn't shock her. Her brain wrestled with them since Bellatrix Lestrange carved the word mudblood into her arm. She wasn't Harry. If given the chance, she'd kill Rosewood, even if it cracked her soul in the process.

Step by step she walked, until she passed the tent threshold. The pureblood in the silver mask grabbed her to him before the others could make a move.

Hermione raised her hands on instinct, but Rosewood dug his wand into Clara's throat.

"One ill movement," he reminded her.

She grimaced as the pureblood in the silver mask whipped her hands down and encased them with shackles made from obsidian. Aurors used these shackles for especially dangerous wizards. They suffocated her magic with the embedded powerful spells. Hermione assumed she should be flattered Rosewood thought she was threatening enough to procure them.

The smoke in the air stung her eyes and tickled her throat. She repressed the desire to cough as the Death Eater held her tight to him. He was of average build with green eyes peeking out from behind the heavy metal.

Rosewood gave Clara to the Death Eater with blood splattered on his white porcelain mask. Then he turned and walked close to Hermione, close enough to make her uncomfortable as he examined her. She did her best to straighten her spine, narrow her eyes, let her teeth flash as if she was a predator.

Rosewood hand trailed down her cheek. She snapped her teeth to bite his fingers, but he tugged back just in time.

"A fascinating specimen. It's a shame you're a bargaining chip." He paused and looked her up and down. "Maybe when Malfoy gets bored, he'd like to share."

"Malfoy doesn't share."

Good or evil, she knew enough about his personality to understand that singular truth.

Rosewood looked amused.

"Bring her to the revelry. She can join in the celebration."

He walked away, and the other Death Eaters followed, tugging Clara along. The girl tripped and stumbled, and the man cruelly yanked her along.

Despair wanted to tug Hermione under. She wished she had fought despite meaning Clara's death. How was she supposed to get out of this?

The Death Eater holding her wasn't moving. Instead, he leaned over and whispered into her ear. His hot breath made her feel ill to her stomach.

"Do as your told."

That voice. She heard it before, like sandpaper on her mind.

"You're going to be the first I kill," Hermione said.

"You won't."

His sleeve dropped down his wrist, giving her a quick flash of his upper forearm. A tattoo of a dragon slithered along the skin. Golden with intelligent eyes. It looked into her eyes, as if cognizant of her gaze.

Hermione couldn't hold back the gasp of recognition. It was the same golden dragon on the grimoire.

"I believe you have something of mine," he whispered.

**Hermione**

The fires from the explosions burnt the main camp and all the market stalls to cinders. The blackened grass crunched beneath her feet, still hot enough she thought it might be melting the rubber soles of her trainers away. The air reeked of burning skin, a smell she knew she'd never forget.

Hermione looked away from a charred skeleton slumped next to a burnt-out table. She hoped it wasn't Callum.

Off to the right a giant cage towered over them. It was made from the trees around them, encased with humming magic. Inside were the merchant children that survived the slaughter. A little girl with dark skin clutched an arm with a severe burn. The rest shivered in the center, holding each other, skin stained grey with ash.

Hermione swallowed her horror, but acid still burned her throat. She didn't want to think of why the Death Eaters placed children in cages.

Too many questions lingered, too many things happened as she lay frozen and tangled under the invisibility cloak.

The pureblood Death Eater led her to a group of black-cloaked figures huddling in a circle, surrounded by flickering torches, many more than she expected. Probably up to a fifty, if she stopped to count them. Whatever this was, it was larger and more organized than she first assumed. The sight made her feet falter, but the man gave a sharp tug to her shoulders to keep her moving.

No Aurors in sight, though she didn't expect to see any. They would have been the first killed, and a patronus to call for help would be difficult to cast in the forest.

Each of the Death Eaters had a prisoner at wand point. As she got closer, she recognized the red-cheeked face of Walter Filibus with a wand at his throat. To her surprise, Shacklebolt stood next to him with obsidian cuffs on his wrists. Callum was nowhere in sight, which made her stomach clench in worry. The rest of the prisoners she did not know. Most were dignitaries from countries across the globe

Draco stood next to Rosewood. He wore a half-mask he procured from somewhere, but there was no denying that platinum blond hair. He was not at wand point and stood as if at total ease in his surroundings.

Her whole body hardened. Was this a trick? Or had he been a Death Eater all along? The thought of it all being an act, of him just playing with her—maybe even luring her into a trap—was more painful than she wanted to admit.

_I'm not your hero._

Her brain hurt and strangely her heart did too.

She tried to catch his eye, but he ignored her.

They arrived at the edge of the circle just as a dragon roared in the distance. It seemed they had been waiting for her, the mudblood war hero.

"It's time for history to be born," a booming voice said. It belonged to a stooped man, covered in black. He reached up and tugged off his hood, revealing a deeply wrinkled face, with a strong jawbone, and a frame twisted with age. "But first… a few introductions are in order."

Hermione didn't need introductions. He was an older clone of his son.

Nott Senior.

She heard a rumor he killed his wife in front of Theo as a child, because he was tired of her nagging. Looking at the man now, face lacking expression, she believed every foul story about him.

"Cantan Nott?" Filibus' face deepened with color. "Unhand me at once and explain yourself."

"I'll unhand you when you swear me your allegiance," Nott snapped. "As to what you're doing here…" He tugged out a wand. It was pure black and as twisted as its owner. "I would think that's obvious. The time to purge our world of the filth soiling our streets is long past."

"We won't negotiate with terrorists," a woman in the Sari proclaimed, eyes blazing. Hermione recognized her. She was a famous muggleborn from India. The woman held her back straight, though her face was streaked with dirt, blood coated the bottom section of her mouth, and her torn sari fluttered in the wind.

"Who said anything about negotiating?"

Nott flicked his wand. A tar-like substance attached to the woman's face, covering both her mouth and nose. She toppled backward as the substance sucked into her mouth, and she twisted on the ground, trying to scrape away the tar. But it was no use. Her body twitched for two long minutes before it shuddered and stopped.

"Does anyone else want to say their opinion? Or are we ready to listen?"

Hermione withheld a scream, though it rattled her head. She trembled, and the hands on her upper shoulders tightened.

The pressure reminded her to focus, despite wishing to curse the man. Her eyes left the poor dead woman, black tar leaking out of her ears, and transferred them to the true threat: Cantan Nott. She startled when she realized he glared right back at her.

"For too long mudbloods have been allowed to masquerade as witches and wizards." His intelligent eyes sharpened to fine points, looking her over like a particularly hardy cow going up for market. "They are vermin: hard to exterminate, breeding like rabbits, taking our money and jobs, mutilating our magic into something watered down and poisoned. Soon enough they'll out breed us, diluting magic until it vanishes from the face of the Earth."

"You're wrong," Hermione said. She couldn't help herself.

Draco's mercury eyes finally snapped to her, giving a clear warning for silence. The Death Eater's nails on her shoulder dug in leaving little moons under his fingernails.

Hermione was long passed obeying the whims of purebloods.

"Am I,_ mudblood_?" Nott's teeth were dark yellow. "You're the embodiment of everything wrong with our society, and yet you can stand there and call me wrong. Prove it then, and I'll spare the muggleborns in our midst."

Hermione glanced at the crowd, at the trembling Clara. She did not know who else qualified as a muggleborn, how many lives were at stake. She felt a multitude of hearts on her conscious, beating as one.

"Magic is just an element of nature. Unstable in its purest form," Hermione tried to keep her voice firm. "It can't be diluted because we can't even produce it. It merely flows through us like electricity. The ability to control it is either inherited as a recessive trait, or, more rarely, it can be a spontaneous DNA mutation. It neither enhances nor takes away from another person's ability to control magic."

The eyes around her glazed over. Most wizarding communities, especially the insulated ones like Great Britain, relied on magic too much to appreciate muggle technology or any other scientific development. She wished she could show them the wonders and terrors of the muggle world. The vastness. The unending potential and progress.

She wished to show them videos of a mushroom cloud blossoming into the sky. An astronaut stepping onto the moon. A heart transplant. Splitting the atom. Discovering black holes. The violence, the brilliance. Meanwhile, the wizarding world was stuck close in the dark ages, still using owls for communication when things like the internet and telephones existed.

It wouldn't mean anything though. Not to them. She already wasted her words.

"From that incoherent drabble, I assume your suggesting magic can't be diminished. If that's true, then give me the explanation for squibs."

A long time ago a single study was published by a defunct Unspeakable. He twisted the results of a study to match his bias, giving the claim the proximity of muggleborns created squibs. No matter how many studies proved the findings erroneous, it was a hard lie to destroy. Because it gave the pureblood fanatics the justification they needed.

Hermione had done a lot of research on the issue.

"To the best of my knowledge," Hermione explained. "Squibs have an inherited disease much like Hemophilia, effecting the ability to control magic instead of blood. It explains why most squibs are born from Pureblood families, notorious for inbreeding."

The crowd buzzed with muted laughs and murmurings.

Nott blinked a few times before giving a glimpse of rotting teeth. Hermione absently wondered if terrible dental hygiene was a requirement for the worst Death Eaters.

"What pathetic muggle-based drivel. Do you see the lies they try to sell?" He turned his attention to the rest of the crowd. "Using made up language to warp our minds. If that mad monologue doesn't convince you lot our society is infected, then there's no hope for you." He stared hard to force submission, to wilt under the hate. Instead, Hermione lifted her chin and straightened her spine.

"If I'm so inferior, then duel me," she challenged. "Or are you scared of a _mudblood_?"

Nott's lips pinched with displeasure.

"I won't be manipulated into a call to bravery like a foolish little Gryffindor. Why should I duel you when you're already in chains? And why should I kill you when you've given me the elusive Draco Malfoy. He readily turned over his wand to keep you in his bed with your legs spread so prettily. Isn't that right, Draco?"

Draco's eyes were on her again, but this time she ignored him. Tears threatened to tumble from her eyes, no matter how much she willed them to dry.

"It's a rush to touch Potter's girl," Draco answered. "I wish I could raise him from the grave to say it to his face. Too bad I only have the Weasel to torment."

Nott gave a bark of a laugh.

"Your cruelty is inspiring. You'll need to show my sniveling, coward of a son how a real wizard behaves when you get back to Hogwarts. He's too bloody soft. A waste of the Nott family name."

She didn't want to hear about Theo's horrid home life. Malfoy's words replayed in her mind like poison. She remembered the way he tugged back Ron's unconscious head.

_I'm going to fuck your girl soon, Weasel._

Was it all a lie? The way they traced their scars under the invisibility cloak, exposing their pain. She wished to grab her head in the confusion.

"This is the first day of our sacred mission," Nott continued. "The final ultimatum. The glorious future free from muggle filth and their ill-magicked spawns." He glanced at Hermione. "A glorious future where mudblood war heroes are reduced to nothing but a Malfoy whore." His eyes turned to the other occupants of the revel. "Kill the rest of the filth."

Avada Kedavra snapped across the dragon reserve's charred grounds.

"No!" Hermione whipped hard against the hands clamping on her shoulders, but they held tight like iron. Bodies crumbled on the ground, falling like a row of dominos. Clara didn't scream when it was her turn. Her eyes widened, tears still falling when the green light stuck her from behind. Her body tumpled forward like a doll, eyes wide and empty, face smeared into the ash.

Hermione didn't cry, too shocked for any real emotion, but her knees buckled. Ten muggleborns died in a matter of seconds.

She couldn't have saved them. Not really. She could have talked till her words turned her face blue, and Clara would have still crumbled to the ground. Still, the guilt crashed into her like a wave, the responsibility to save them encasing her feet in cement and dragging her to the bottom of the ocean.

The Death Eater with the slithering dragon tattoo still held her shoulders tight, the only thing keeping her upright.

"Pay attention," he whispered in her ear, voice like sandpaper, grating her eardrums.

Where the fuck had she heard that voice from?

His slicing words worked. Her feet found purchase, strong enough to hold her weight. Spine straightening, Hermione imagined herself to be made of stone, a statue without emotion or fear.

Blood whooshed in her ears. One heartbeat. Two. Three. She counted slowly to twenty to calm her mind, her body. The logic brought her brain back into focus.

When she finally looked up, she found Draco observed her. Blond hair peeked out from behind his mask and robe, and his lips moved as if chanting. He held his wand under his sleeve, making a swirling set of patterns toward the ground.

The magic brushed along her skin as gentle as a feather, and Hermione withheld a shiver. The hole in her soul ached, still not yet healed.

Draco was performing the _Anima Vinculum_ spell. It begged entrance at the edges of her chest. Hermione shook her head no, and Draco's eyes narrowed. The next time the magic slammed against her chest. Somehow her frayed and muted magic held him back.

She wouldn't let him connect them. Not yet. Not without answers.

"Where's Charlie?" She asked out loud.

It was the first words spoken since the murders, the Death Eaters still silent in reverence, everyone else holding their breath in fear. The words hung in their air as if stuck there.

Every single eye turned to her, friend and foe alike. She caught Draco's stare, letting him know the question was directed at him.

"Charlie Weasley is dead," Draco answered.

Her stomach dropped.

_No, it can't be._ The world lost its footing, the edges of her eyesight turned black. Afraid that she was going to faint, she pinched the soft area between her thumb and pointer finger.

"H—how."

"I killed him." Draco gave her body a cruel once over. "Just like what I'll do to you after I tire of your cunt."

The Death Eaters gave barking laughs.

"Hush," Nott senior hissed. "Give reverence to this moment."

He flicked his wand and the dead bodies rose into the air, chests up, mouths open, arms flung back. In the dying fire, they resembled macabre puppets, twirling in the air, waiting for the master to pull the strings.

Hermione should pay attention to the horror, but something in her disassociated with the sights and smells. And her soul throbbed and ached, as if in physical pain. Draco's words were a knife, stabbing and being left to rot in the wound.

He looked hard, forbidding. Since a young age, she knew Malfoy to be a spoiled bigot. But this level of cruelty was beyond what she imagined of him.

Though…

_It's for your own good. _The words replayed in different voices, both hopeful and insidious.

The next time his magic slammed against her, it slipped past her barrier, clicking into place with the gaping wound. There was no way to keep him out. It felt like completion, like she could finally breath for the first time the whole day.

_It's important you obey every word I say. _Draco's voice echoed in her head._ Despite Nott's promise to keep you alive, once the blood starts spilling, it's hard for them to stop. Don't fight or talk back. It will only make things worse. Just do what you're told, and I'll make sure to get you out of here alive. _

That they now could hear each other's thoughts worried her, that the roots of his magic dug down deeper than before worried her even more.

He said it as if he's seen this before. Again, she wondered if he'd been to a revel. Was it much like this one? Dead bodies floating in the air, as the Death Eaters chanted below. A strange hum resonated in the clearing, as if the old magic in the forest answered the call.

_What are you planning? _Hermione willed her thoughts out, but they slammed into Draco's occlumency shields.

Nott stopped his chanting and stepped forward, right in between two floating bodies. Blood made silent drips out of an older gentleman's mouth, softly pelting the ground in crimson.

"This forest belonged to my ancestors," Nott said. "Several years ago, they excavated bones from the very soil beneath our boots, finding evidence of human sacrifice. My ancestors understood sacrificial blood strengthened their magic. Muggle ideas of morality has since almost buried this knowledge with time. But, now, several thousands of years later, blood will once again soak into the Earth. The mudblood deaths are already igniting the air. Do you feel it?" He closed his eyes a moment to savor it. "But there needs to be more."

Hermione did feel it. It buzzed in the air, shimmering and flickering. It zipped with the wind, charging everything it touched. In the distance, several of the dragons gave mighty roars, as if feeling the change in the forest air.

She needed to stop this before they completed whatever ritual was next.

"Are you going to kill us?" The Australian diplomat asked. He was from the Aboriginal wizarding clan. Through decades of colonization, the aboriginal wizards managed to hold together their ancient heritage of magic for 50,000 years, passed down from ancestors that clawed their survival in an unforgiving land. His strong shoulders and proud stance suggested he inherited his ancestor's strength.

"Rosewood," Nott snapped. Her Defense against the Dark Arts professor stepped forward. "Do you have the required substance ready?"

Rosewood held out his hand. In it, he held a sack clanking with movement.

"Pure Wizard blood is too rare and precious to go to waste." Nott plucked the drawstring until it gaped open. He dug his hand into the contents and pulled out a single vial. "Therefore, I'm giving you two choices. Loyalty to the cause… or compliance." He motioned the Death Eater holding the Australian. He prodded his captive forward with great difficulty until he stood before Nott. "Which do you choose?"

The Aboriginal diplomat spit at Nott's face. A glob of saliva dripped down his cheek. Nott flicked it away and sighed.

"Compliance then."

He swished his wand, and the Australian's mouth opened. Nott reached forward and tipped the vial into his mouth.

"Now swallow." To his credit, the man fought the command, but his jaw clicked closed, and his throat bobbed to show he swallowed.

The effects were instant. His eyes glazed over; his mouth slackened.

Nott touched the Aboriginal's cheek tenderly. "Go back to your place until I have use for you."

"Yes, master." The man nodded and walked back, almost robotically.

Hermione wished to throttle herself. She felt used, dirty, betrayed. How did she not put together the clues before?

Silver-eyed horned toad slime by itself was a powerful aphrodisiac, inciting lust. However, when added to Acromantula venom, it transformed into a potion with effects similar to the imperious curse. Except, with the potion it twisted the mind as well, subverting it into induced loyalty.

Virtually no one would expect it because the potion was almost impossible to obtain, hard to trace in the blood, and it didn't leave a wand signature like the imperious. To add on to its dangerous qualities, it lasted months in the bloodstream if mixed correctly.

Why kill the dignitaries when Nott could warp their minds to the cause and send them back to the governments they belonged to? Break them from the inside. Nott didn't intend for this to be a local movement; he intended to bring the world to its knees.

Rosewood went around the clearing stopping before each dignitary. He produced a vial of venomed slime and asked each the question: loyalty or compliance. Some choose to convert to the cause, Filibus included. Others stood their ground, and then the potion turned them mindless drones.

Shacklebolt fought valiantly. It took three Death Eaters to hold him down as Rosewood shoved the contents of the potion passed his lips.

In the end, she was the last one left.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice," Rosewood said. "Open up and drink your medicine like a good little girl."

She clenched her jaw.

"Let me do it." The pureblood holding her volunteered.

"Be my guest." Rosewood gave the Death Eater the vial.

The tattooed pureblood turned her so she saw his green eyes. They reminded her of moss. The silver mask winked in the moonlight hard and unyielding.

"Pretend," he hissed in such a low whisper, she thought she misheard. She had no time to comprehend the statement before he sent a spell to her mouth. It opened against her will. She only saw a flash of that golden dragon on his forearm before he tipped the potion into her mouth.

Except nothing came out. It took her a moment to understand the Death Eater played a sleight of hand, holding his thumb over the opening in a way that Rosewood couldn't see.

"Now swallow."

She did as he asked. Then she let her face go slack, her posture robotic, mimicking the dignitaries as best she could.

"Turn around," Rosewood said.

She obeyed and resisted the desire to bite Rosewood's fingers off when he twisted her face back and forth and looked in her eyes.

The struggle to keep a flat face almost broke her, but eventually she passed the examination. He let his finger linger on her cheek.

"What a beautiful little puppet you have, Draco, willing to do anything you ask."

"Hands off my prize," Draco hissed. Rosewood grinned as his finger left her face, going back to his position beside Nott.

Draco kept his eyes on hers. He attempted to intrude into her thoughts, but she threw up her own occlumency shields and ignored him.

The Death Eater clutching her shoulders—her unexpected savior— leaned over and whispered into her ear.

"They say you know wandless, nonverbal magic. Is that true?"

Hermione glanced at the obsidian shackles on her wrists. The tempering of her magic felt like suffocating.

"Not with these chains on my wrist," she whispered without moving her lips.

"I could remedy that."

A gentle wind could knock her over. It was the last thing she expected.

"Why would you do that?"

He let her wait a moment, hands firming again on her shoulders.

"For two favors."

I made her wary. She rarely entered agreements. The last time it was with Draco Malfoy, and that went so well. And this time she didn't even know the man's identity and the stakes were higher.

"I don't even know who you are."

"You don't need to. Consider this a wizard debt."

Wizard debts were serious. It was a promise, stronger than an unbreakable vow. He could call in his debt at any time, and she'd have to comply or face dire consequences, both legal and magical. It was not something to take lightly, but Hermione wasn't sure what else she could do.

"Fine," she agreed.

The Death Eaters began to chant, the air thick with ancient siphoned magic, sucked from the trees and soil.

"What are the favors?"

"You'll know when I call them in."

That didn't sound good. Hermione tried to swallow her instant regret. It was a means to an end. She just hoped it didn't cost her too much in the future.

She nodded her head in consent to the wizard debt, and a heated feeling traveled across her body, settling across her chest. As quick as it came, it vanished.

"My chains," Hermione reminded.

He hesitated. She wondered who he was and why he was betraying his brothers in arms. Eventually, he leaned over and gave a quick tap to her obsidian chains. They unclicked but stayed on her wrists. She didn't move to brush them away. Not yet.

Her attention went back to the ceremony. A fellow Death Eater pushed forward with magic the giant cage containing the children of the merchants. They huddled together, most of them silent, some of them wailing. Snot and tears muddied their faces, and the older ones clutched the screaming littles close.

The sight turned Hermione's stomach when she realized they were being reeled in for ritualized slaughter. Little lambs to the altar.

As one, the Death Eaters pulled out gleaming knives, coated with old blood. As if this had been done many times before, enough to stain each one with flaking maroon. The children wouldn't get a quick Avada. Most Dark magic required suffering.

The door to the cage opened, and a Death Eater yanked out a little boy. He trembled with wide brown eyes, clutching a light blue blanket to his chest. He looked about three with dark curls and the rounded belly of a toddler.

"Come here, child," Nott Senior said. "You've been chosen as the first."

The child just clutched his blanket and placed a finger in his mouth. He looked as if he wanted to cry or run but didn't know where to go.

Hermione couldn't watch for a second longer.

_I'm going to kill them all_, her mind hissed.

"You'll have his blood only after you've had mine!" She flickered her arms down, letting the chains rattle toward the Earth.

The Death Eaters reacted fast, spells flinging from the tips of their wands of all the colors, but they didn't reach their destination. A giant blue shield erupted from her upturned hands, encasing her and Nott. Spells pinged against the glowing blue, trying to get through. Hermione trembled with the effort but kept steady.

"Am I supposed to be afraid?" Nott clutched his wand, rotting teeth pulled into a mocking grin.

"I owe you a duel, bigoted bastard. Let's see if I diminish magic."

Nott gave a chuckle.

"Going to throw an expelliarmus? I know how your kind works." Nott grabbed the squealing toddler and pressed his knife to the boy's tiny throat. His gnarled wand pointed at Hermione with his other hand. "That's the difference between me and you. There's no limits to what I can do. You're clever for a mudblood, I'll give you that, but we both know the ending to this story. So save yourself. Get the chains and reattach them."

"I'd rather die."

"You will, girl." He glanced around, showing the Death Eaters at the edges of her shield. "Even if you kill me, you won't get out of this alive."

She wouldn't be able to hold the shield forever. And she couldn't fight them all. When it finally dropped, she'd be dead. All her effort went into holding the massive shield. She didn't have the energy of power to produce enough magic to kill him, even if she wanted to.

Hermione loosened her stance, a clam settling over her body. She felt Draco's glare through the shield, felt him try to tug her around with the link. But with her magic loose he didn't stand a chance, and she ignored him.

It gave her an idea though.

Old magic was a funny thing.

Nott relaxed as well, thinking she was giving up.

"Your magic is fraying. I can feel it weaken with each second. You're desperate. Remember, you have to mean the killing curse. Your savior Potter never had it in him. Are you prepared to mangle yourself, little girl?"

"I don't need dark magic to kill you."

"Foolish child, it's the only magic that guarantees it."

"Maybe that's true with your limited understanding of the world, but muggle science is fascinating," Hermione answered. "For instance, take biology. We're sixty percent water, did you know that?"

"I'm not sure I care."

"You should."

_There needs to be more blood. _

She sent a cutting spell to the palm of her hand, watching as the blood spurted out and splattered on the ground. The air zinged with energy, the wind whipping against her shield. Every discarded leaf, every broken branch, rose in the air.

A voluntary blood sacrifice.

The old magic entered her without her consent, unstable, uncontrollable.

Hermione twisted her opposite hand as it took over her body, cell by cell.

Nott dropped the knife with a hiss. His hand turned red, skin bubbling into blisters.

"What did you do, you cretin?"

"You see, with that knowledge, I don't need dark magic." She twisted her other hand. "All I need is a simple boiling charm."

The magic flared, zapping along her nerves, almost painful with the energy.

Red streaked across Nott's arms. He yelled and backed away, dropping the child in his pain.

The Death Eaters on the outside began to slam into the shield with spells. The effort to keep it up, even with the old magic, sent sweat dripping down her face. It wouldn't last much longer.

The old magic was too much, too powerful, it overwhelmed her system. It filled her until bursting. She did not control it; it controlled her. The simple boiling charm intensified into something insidious, the chanted words turning to ash on her tongue.

"Avada…" Nott started but dropped his wand when the blisters bubbled and popped on his finger, flesh falling off in chunks.

"The thing you overlooked," Hermione said. "Is the old magic you summoned doesn't care the about blood status like you do. Even a _mudblood_ can use it."

The magic blasted out of her in a powerful wave.

Nott stared at his fingers, white bone peeking through the roasted flesh, and then his eyes widened, and his mouth opened in a scream. He didn't have time to stop it before his body turned red and shiny, skin puffed and smooth, until it bubbled and burst, giant sheets of skin sloughing off. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, brain cooked beyond saving and his gnarled body smashed into the ground.

Hermione used too much of her magic, too fast, too soon. She fell to her knees, so exhausted even the toddler crying near the boiled body didn't move her.

The shield would come down any moment, and she'd be dead. Hermione glanced up, knowing she only had a few seconds left. Malfoy stood in a deadly calm just on the other side of the shield, icy eyes piercing her through the haze. The other Death Eaters stood around him with wands out, nearly salivating at her impending death.

_I'm not sorry_, she thought, hoping it reached him through the link.

_I had a fucking plan_, his voice echoed back.

_Make my death quick._

_You aren't going to die._

_My shield is almost down. _

_Well, hold it_. He looked to the sky. _Because he's here._

_Who's—_

A roar echoed across the campsite. The beat of wings. It was only a second of warning, before a ball of flames shot across the clearing. The Death Eaters ducked down, but two weren't lucky enough to escape. They didn't even scream as they burned upright before collapsing, the skin eaten from their frames, masks melting into skin.

_Charlie! But—but I thought you killed him. _

_Me, kill someone? I don't like my hands dirty_—even in thought form he sounded snarky—_I merely sent him for reinforcements. A Patronus can't get through the magic of the forest— _

_But a dragon can._ Hermione finished for him.

She almost smiled, but it was at that moment her shield failed, and she collapsed on the ground, drained of energy.

Rosewood was the first to reach her. He scooped her up around the waist and pressed a knife to her throat as her eyelids fluttered shut.

"It's nothing personal," he whispered into her ear. "But this is going to hurt."


	17. A Terrible Thing, Indeed

**Song Suggestion: **Cheryl Cole- "Parachute"

**A Terrible Thing, Indeed**

**Draco **

Hermione collapsed. The link faded as the darkness took her. The giant shield, the most impressive piece of magic he'd ever seen in his life, failed the moment her body touched the ground.

Draco sprung forward, but Rosewood was faster. The fucker gripped her up, wand to her throat, glaring at Draco. As if he guessed his hand in all of this. In truth, Draco had no idea what the fuck happened. The chains melted from her wrists as if the obsidian didn't affect her. Either she defied the laws of magic, or she had help. There was no time to figure out which.

Charlie Weasley careened down on a massive female Hungarian Horntail, spikes lining most of its body besides the small section Charlie saddled, landing in the center of the clearing. Charlie ducked as spells hurtled past his body. The dragon snapped up the Death Eater in the bloodied porcelain mask, the one that killed Clara, and shook him violently. Something cracked in his body, probably his spine. The mask fell, revealing a screaming Avery. One of the worst of the lot. It looked as if the dragon wanted to eat him, a large drool of slobber dripping to the ground, but Charlie patted her on her neck.

"Not this time, Pretty. We want this bastard alive."

The Horntail obeyed him, dropping the quivering mass to the ground, clutching him under her talons. The sight of Avery fractured and screaming on the ground tore the morale of the Death Eaters. A few broke rank and ran into the forest.

"Come back here, you traitorous bastards! There's only one dragon." Rosewood chunked a curse at Charlie that was swatted away by the dragon.

"Interesting fact about dragons…" Charlie hair looked like fresh blood under the moonlight. "They travel in packs."

The Hungarian Horntail gave another giant roar, rattling the ground beneath his feet. The treetops shook with the answering roars, as the most well-behaved of the dragons blacked out the stars and the moon with their spread wings.

Dragons were intelligent enough to understand some human speech, enough to recognize who to kill and that they'd get whole cows as treats for a job well done.

"Careful, Weasley," Rosewood said. "I can make them fight to their deaths." He motioned to the dignitaries, somehow still standing out of the way, robotic in their movements.

"About that." Draco gave a wicked smirk. He snapped his fingers.

More than half the dignitaries, including the Australian and Shacklebolt, reached into their mouths and tugged out a small patch of green moss, while simultaneously taking out their wands and pointing them at the surprised Death Eaters.

"Hypnum Cupressiforme." Rosewood gave a surprised blink, absorbing the information and what it meant for him. "You clever little bastard."

Hypnum Cupressiforme, a type of common sheet moss, was an excellent filter for potions when chewed. After figuring out what he planned based on the ingredients they obtained, he brought it to Romania in his school bag and managed to get a patch to several of the dignitaries he trusted during the worst of the chaos, so that the Death Eaters would let their guard down.

They all stared at each other, a sudden brief calm. The Hungarian Horntail stood over a whimpering Avery with teeth bared. The other dragons still circled the sky.

"Set the wand down," Weasley said, just as the first of the Aurors arrived in the distance, racing fast and low on their brooms towards the camp. "You've lost."

Rosewood's arms tightened around Hermione. She groaned, eyes fluttering in and out of consciousness. Rosewood glanced at the sky, at the Aurors careering down. At the dragons circling the treetops, patiently waiting for the signal to attack. At the Hungarian Horntail, with Charlie on its back. At the freed dignitaries. At the fleeing Death Eaters. At Nott's boiled body. He seemed to be making the tallies in his head, the pros and cons.

"You know this knife, don't you?" Rosewood asked. The hilt was golden and studded with jewels.

His father used to keep a similar one in a glass case in the attic, spelled so no one except the master of the house could touch it, because the knife was a magic stealer, sucking it from the wizard until he was a husk.

A simple stab was all it took, even on accident. The magic bleed from them, returning to the Earth, and the victim was left a husk. A shell.

There was a spell that could reverse it, and of course he knew it, but it was particularly dangerous to perform. He'd be risking his own life. And he didn't even know if he was a strong enough wizard to perform it correctly.

Rosewood saw straight through him.

"You need to make a choice, Malfoy." He pressed the knife tight enough to Granger's throat she groaned. He held her belly to him as if they were lovers. "You need to figure out what's most important to you." He snapped his free hand and the dignitaries still under the influence of the potion attacked at once, running straight at their peers. The world became the sound of cracking spells, roaring dragons as the landed and sunk their teeth into the remaining Death Eaters, Aurors whipping by on their brooms, and the screams of the dying. Charlie was thrown from the back of the Hungarian Horntail when a red spell smashed into his chest.

Draco ignored it, only focusing on one thing: Rosewood clutching his witch as if he owned her.

"You can waste time apprehending me." Rosewood lifted the knife from her neck and placed it in the middle of her stomach. "Or you can save her."

He gave a sudden thrust upward, knife disappearing into her flesh. Granger's eyes snapped open, awoken from her sleep with the agony. Her mouth made a little o of surprise, hand reaching for the knife.

Draco's world shrunk to small pinpoints, everything else hazy and numb.

Rosewood tugged out the knife, letting Granger fall to the forest floor.

The magic flared down his skin and into his wand.

"Avada Kedavra," Draco snapped.

His father once told him he'd have to mean it. And he never had, until then. A fully formed green light left his wand, but before it could reach his target, Rosewood reached into his robes and pulled a Chocolate Frog card with Granger's image and vanished.

A portkey. Rosewood had an illegal portkey the whole time.

Of course, the fucker did.

Hermione seized on the ground. Draco reached down and grabbed the knife that entered her body. He contemplated for the cost, before placing the tip to his arm and dragging it down deep. He hissed with the horrible pain, chanting a spell he was taught as a young child to summon and bind the old magic still flaring around them.

"I'm not done with you yet." Draco lifted the back of Granger's neck, placing his blood toward her lips. It smeared across her face as she choked on the coppery liquid. After, he dipped his fingers into the blood boiling out of her torso and brought it to his tongue, letting it sit in his mouth before it slid down his throat.

"Don't make me fucking regret this," he whispered, pulling her into a kiss, letting their blood smear into one.

The old magic flared around him, attaching to the link connecting them, as he chanted a healing charm, plotting Rosewood's demise.

**Hermione**

Hermione groaned. One eye opened and then the other. Her body felt as if every cell charred into cinders.

She couldn't remember much after seeing Charlie flying down on a massive dragon. There were just flashes, feelings, and Hermione wasn't sure which of them were true.

Rosewood's whispered threats. The snap of Avada Kedavra. Draco telling her, "Don't make me fucking regret this." Then she was somehow in Charlie's arms. He had blood on his face and chest, and he limped along.

"Don't die on me." Charlie might have been crying. "Please don't die."

It was nothing after that.

Warm sunshine filtered through a window caressing her face. She didn't even have to look around to recognize were she was—the Hogwarts infirmary. A comforting, familiar place. Fresh cleaning spells always left a lemon scent.

The starched sheets clung tight against her body as she wiggled her legs. She arched her back, wishing to stretch out and then stopped for two reasons.

One: A sharp pain lanced through her body, originating on her right abdomen.

Two: Ronald Weasley glared at her, bent over in a chair, chin to palm. His eyes were red, hair wild, tie loose and flung over his shoulder. He looked as if he hadn't had a decent shower in several days.

"Ron—"

"It's been less than a year."

"I—"

"_Less than a fucking year_. Harry isn't even cold in the ground."

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it. There were no words for the pain between them.

"I couldn't—"

"Stop. I just… I can't do this."

She reached out for him, as if to hold his hand, like she always used to do, but he stood and brushed his hands down his jeans, as if to dispel dirt.

He walked away and without turning, he whispered.

"I've already lost one best friend. Don't you dare make me lose you too."

His boots struck hard against the ground as he walked away.

**Hermione**

Charlie and Ginny were there the second time she woke up. Contrary to Ron, they both had grins on their face.

"Leave it to Hermione Granger to still go on adventures and leave me behind." Ginny said, but there wasn't any malice behind her words. "And to everyone's complete surprise, she teamed up with Draco Malfoy to save the day."

"What are you fucking talking about?"

She didn't team up with Draco. She didn't even know if he was on her side.

Ginny gained a sly look.

"Oh, this is getting interesting. Dear Malfoy didn't involve his sweetheart in any of the planning, did he?"

Slytherin through and through. The hat made a big, fucking mistake. With great effort, Hermione reached behind her head, grabbed the pillow, and chunked it at her best friend. It missed pathetically, but it got her point across.

"At least we know she's feeling her normal self," Charlie said.

"Quiet or you're next."

"That threat is a little scarier now that I've seen what you can do."

"You saw me…"

"Only the end."

He looked at her as if waiting for something in her to break. Hermione took a moment to reflect. By all odds, her soul should feel shredded. But all she felt was an immense relief.

Clara's death… now, that stung. Tears hovered just over her lash line. She should have saved her somehow. It was the whole reason for giving up without a fight in the first place, and her sacrifice was for nothing.

"I failed them." Hermione gasped.

Charlie grabbed her hand, squishing it in his giant paws, callused from years of taming dragons.

"You're the only one that thinks you failed." His face scrunched. "In fact, several other countries want to honor you with titles and medals. You and Malfoy both."

"Malfoy?" Hermione spat. The only thing she remembered Malfoy doing was threatening to kill her when he tired of her.

She hated hero talk, as if she did something worthy of praise. Growing up she knew little muggle boys obsessed with playing soldier. They would make pretend guns out of sticks and hop over bushes. Death was messier than the movies let on. It made the air reek of defecation and copper. The ground slippery with blood. Smoke and chaos. It was only near death a person realizes it was all just chance they survived. Not heroics. Not a will to live. Just sheer dumb luck.

"So Draco was… on our side?"

The hope, the terrible clenching of her heart. It beat fast at the thought of him without her approval. She'd do anything to turn it off. And the worst thing, it wasn't just desire. That would be too simple. She realized how deep she sunk at the end, the blue shield zinging between them as she whispered sorry.

"Well, he wasn't on the Death Eaters side, at the very least." Charlie said. "Truth be told, I'm impressed by the arsehole. His moss idea was so clever I thought he had your input."

"He wrapped me in an invisibility cloak, froze me, and left me for Rosewood."

Charlie grimaced and nodded.

"I did call him an arsehole. There's no denying that."

"And what do you mean moss?"

"Malfoy gave the dignitaries Hypnum Cupressiforme—

"To filter the potion," Hermione interrupted with surprise.

He must have known about it ahead of time. Which begs the question of why he didn't tell someone, especially her. Instead, he put bubble wrap around her until the battle waned. Even sold his pretend loyalty, just to keep her alive. She knew now he wasn't evil or cruel as she feared, but his words still stung.

Either way, her chest loosened with the information. She withheld the sigh of relief, determined to not let Ginny or Charlie see anything else in her expression.

"How did I get here?"

Charlie hesitated.

"That's Malfoy's doing as well. I'm not sure what spell he used. Rosewood stabbed you with some special knife and then fled. We still can't find him. The blood wasn't stopping, but Malfoy managed to seal it enough to get you to St. Mungo's." Charlie wasn't one to show much emotion, so she was surprise to see his eyes glistening. "I thought you'd die on me. We rode on the dragon. After a night spent stabilizing you, St. Mungo's transferred you here to finish healing."

Malfoy saved her life. She couldn't identify the feeling racing through her, but it was warm and light, like curling up with a book during a rainstorm.

She still didn't trust him. But she couldn't deny she wanted to.

"I bet the nurses almost died of fright when you landed with the dragon," Hermione snorted.

Charlie grinned, eyes still glistening.

"I'm pretty sure one peed herself."

She almost laughed, but Ginny whipped out her wand.

Theodore Nott stood at the edge of the curtains surrounding her bed with both hands tucked into his pockets. His dress robes were as expensive as Draco's, but they were wrinkled and a tad too long.

"What are you doing here?" Ginny snapped, looking like Molly Weasley about to send a Howler.

He reached up and adjusted his glasses. Two red spots brightened his cheeks.

"Ginny." He nodded at her best friend.

"It's Weasley to you," she spat back. Nott looked as if he wanted to melt into the floor.

"I just wanted to talk to Granger."

Charlie pulled out his wand and tapped it against his thigh.

"I'm not sure she's up for visitors."

Nott gulped, as if regretting every choice in his life.

All Hermione could hear was his father's voice.

_Too bloody soft. A waste of the Nott family name. _

Cantan Nott's poor opinion of someone was a plus in her book. She wasn't the best judge of character, given Rosewood's duplicity surprised her. But there was no malice to Nott's stare.

"You're right," Theo said. "I'll just—"

"Stay," Hermione said.

"Hermione," Charlie said. "His father—"

"I know what his father did. But everyone gets a choice. Cantan made his a long time ago. Let Theo make his."

Theo's eyes widened, looking like Draco under the invisibility cloak. As if no one ever told him he had a choice.

"Fine." Charlie leaned back in his chair. "Go on, say what you need to say."

"I was hoping to talk to her alone."

Charlie turned red with irritation, his Weasley skin betraying his every emotion.

"I doubt he's here for some poorly thought out revenge," Hermione said.

Ginny cocked her head and stared at Theo.

"Hermione's right. Let's give the little rich boy his two minutes. I've seen his spell work. He wouldn't stand a chance against Hermione, even injured."

"You're trying to insult me, Ginny," Theo said, ignoring the demand to call her Weasley. "But I'm vastly inferior to Granger. Only a fool would try and attack her. I'm not here for that."

"Then what are you here for?"

"That's private."

Ginny crinkled her nose, telling Theo what she thought of that.

"Alright." she stood up. "Come on Charlie, let's give them some space." She turned and gave Theo her harshest stare. "Just know that if you chose to be a fool like your father, I'll cut your balls off, and feed them to the giant squid."

He gave a nod of his head, his expression unreadable.

Charlie and Ginny left the room. They brushed passed the curtain and when she heard the click of the door, Hermione turned to Theo. He was staring at the spot Ginny had sat.

"She means well," Hermione said. "But I'm afraid she's serious."

"For years, I've imagined several versions of our first conversation." Theo ran his free hand through his shaggy hair. "Never once did I envision she'd threaten to feed my sensitive bits to the giant squid."

Hermione placed her hand on her lips to prevent a smile.

"You fancy Ginny?"

"I do… or I did," he admitted with a shrug, as if he didn't care who knew. "I managed to stop after she got with Potter. I'm not sure anyone could have competed with the chosen one. And now… well, let's just say I'd be a poor replacement." He pushed up his glasses, in what she assumed was a nervous habit. "It doesn't matter now, but I'd appreciate if you never told her."

"I won't tell."

He walked over to the window, placing both his hands back in his pocket and glanced out the leaded glass, overlooking the lake.

The light bounced off the gold in the soft brown strands of his hair, and his glasses magnified his eyes just a bit. There was a time she wondered if the Death Eater holding her was Theo, but the proof was now before her. Hazel eyes instead of moss green.

The Death Eater remained a mystery… and a threat, depending on who he was and what he wanted.

"You killed him," Theo said finally.

Hermione stiffened in her bed, clutching at her covers. She didn't feel guilty for killing Cantan, but now she faced his son with her hands still bloody.

"Are you angry?"

He sighed.

"My father's punishments were always painful."

Without looking at her, he rolled up his sleeve. Hermione gasped in horror as he continued to roll until his elbow

The skin on his forearm was mangled in scars and burns—horrific, ugly things.

"As you can see, I frequently disappointed him." He pointed to a recent one: puckered and shoddily healed. "This one was for healing our muggleborn servant." His jaw clenched with the memory. "Every fucking day of my life…" He closed his eyes. "I'm sure you know he killed my mother in front of me when I was five. I've blocked most the memories, but I still hear her screams sometimes in my nightmares. And I swear he'd have killed me too—sired a new heir with someone else—if he hadn't been left barren by a dark spell."

If that was his forearm, she wondered the state of the rest of him. Now that she thought of it, she'd never seen him in casual dress. He was always buttoned up to the neck in formal attire. She thought it was just because of his pureblood leaning, his pretentious nature. Now she understood he hid a story of torment.

He kneeled and took her hand, putting it to his forehead.

"You've freed me."

"I didn't—"

"There will come a day you'll need something, and I promise you on my life, I'll move the Earth and stars to give it to you."

"That's lovely, but instead of a favor, how about we become friends?"

He stood up, still holding her hand.

"A nice sentiment, but I'm afraid the odds of that happening are slim."

Hermione's eyebrows crinkled in confusion. She wasn't sure what to make of the statement. She attempted to extract her hand, but Theo held it tight.

He leaned down and gave a gentle kiss to her knuckles, like a gallant gentleman in the old movies she used to watch with her parents.

"Draco isn't your friend either," he warned. "I've noticed his interest in you. My advice would be to run. He has never cared if he breaks something… Because he can just replace it."

Hermione couldn't help herself.

"But what if he does care?"

He looked unsurprised, as if he already suspected things ran deeper than they appeared.

"Then I pity the person he cares for," Theo said. "Draco in love would be a terrible thing, indeed."

He let her hand go, looking like a Slytherin for the first time the entire conversation. She had forgotten what house he belonged to, what name he grew up with. He may not be as cruel and conniving as the others, but he still was born to them.

A chill traveled across Hermione as Theo gave a nod of his head and left the room.


	18. Everything and Nothing

**Song Suggestion:** Major Lazer- "Powerful" (Ft. Ellie Goulding & Tarrus Riley)

**A/N:** I posted another story called Caged. Don't worry, this story will still have top priority when it comes to updates, but I couldn't banish the story from my head. It will be a dark AU Voldemort wins. I'm super excited for it, so go and give it some love.

**2****nd**** A/N:** I try and update every two weeks, but occasionally it will be three, if I'm super busy. I'm the turtle in the race. A little slow, but I cross the finish line.

**Everything and Nothing**

**Draco **

Draco sat in the corner, watching Hermione sleep. Moonlight seeped through the glass. He used the excuse of rounds to slip into the room for a few seconds close to her.

Her chest rose and fell with her mouth slightly open. She snored. He should let this repulse him, but he found he still didn't want to look away.

It was this singular fact that terrified him. A terror so bone deep he wanted to run from the room. Wanted to shut himself away, return to a time he could be repulsed. It was more than the link connecting them, though occasionally he found himself revealing the golden threads just to touch them.

She stirred, cracking an eye.

"Draco?"

She attempted to move but flinched, one hand holding the side Rosewood stuck the knife in. A shiver shot through him hearing his given name on her lips. The feeling was almost eclipsed by a burning rage at seeing her wounded.

He'd never been able to kill before. Not even when tortured by his Aunt. Not even during the Final Battle. A wizard had to hate to kill, and Draco never really did until that moment.

"Hush, Granger, and go back to sleep."

"I don't like being told what to do."

"I've noticed."

They talked the same way they always did to each other, but their words lost a little of their poison.

She looked at him as if he was Potter incarnate, and it made him want to pace and shout. He knew what she was about to say before it exited her mouth.

"I knew you could be a hero."

He scoffed.

"I merely wanted to put Nott in his place. Perhaps I'm mad you did it for me."

She searched his face, but the little smile didn't go away. She didn't believe him.

"Next time don't try and protect me," she said. "Together we could be a good team. We—"

She clutched her side with a hiss.

"You're still in pain."

"No, I'm fine. I—"

"Stop being such a martyr and let me see it."

He brushed her hand away, tugging up the soft cotton night shirt. The wound still looked fresh. His hand hovered over the skin, chanting, and a blue light stitched the wound. It didn't heal it, since Dark magic wounds were complicated, but it helped.

"In my purse is a little bottle," she said. "Take it out for me."

The beaded bag sat on a chair next to her. He reached in his hand, the ward letting him pass by since he got permission, and extracted a small white and blue bottle, reading Ibuprofen.

"What's this?"

She popped it open and took out two small white tablets and quickly swallowed them.

"Muggles have a wide variety of… potions… to ease pain. I've magically enhanced theses to perform better."

"Intriguing."

He told the truth. It might have been the first time in his life he was interested in something muggle.

"How did you get so good at healing charms?" She asked.

He debated on whether to tell her the truth or not.

"Even Death Eaters need sufficient healers on the battlefield."

His Aunt tried to train him to kill, but she stopped when she discovered how adept he was at healing. It was a skill most Death Eaters lacked, due to the dark magic filtering through their veins.

"Is that what you want to do after graduation… become a healer?"

No one had ever asked him that before. Because the likely hood of that ever happening was zero. Muggleborns viewed the world as if there were no limits, that anybody could do what they wanted, that everybody had a choice.

"I've never really thought of it," he answered. "Look, I need to tell you something."

"Yeah."

Draco wondered if he should. He could let events play out, allow the spells to cement. But she was still looking at him with wide eyes_. Hopeful. _

No one had ever looked at him that way. No one had expected anything out of him.

It was the only thing that stood in front of the greedy part of his soul, the section that wanted to take what he wanted with no returns or exchanges.

"It's about the spell. The one I used to heal you."

"What about it?" She barely mumbled the words. The exhaustion was pulling her under again.

"Well, I had to draw on the old magic. And the only way available was through the link. It was the only way I was able to heal your body to still produce magic and survive. You need to understand that."

Hermione's eyelashes fluttered hard, trying to pay attention, even through her exhaustion.

"You had to do what you had to do."

"You don't understand. We shared blood… we shared magic."

He wanted to shake her, but she answered with a snore. She was so exhausted she fell asleep in the middle of their conversation. The soft heat of her skin warmed his hand as he muttered the healing spell again, watching as the wound attempted to stitch together. He wished to keep his hand there all night.

But he removed it, pulling down the shirt with care. He pulled the covers over her, surprised by his own actions. He'd never made sure someone was warm when they slept.

"If we're not careful, we'll be past the point of disconnecting." He brushed the curls from her sleeping face. "And that's a problem, because I'm not sure I want to prevent it." He gave a sigh and stood up. "And I'm not sure we'll survive the consequences if we stay this way."

**Hermione**

Hermione wrapped a scarf around her neck and walked outside to find Callum Mason waiting for her with a goofy grin on his face. A fresh snow blanketed the ground, the first of the season.

"Ready?" He held his arm out.

She looped her hand around his elbow as they walked towards Hogsmeade. She promised to go with Callum, and she refused to break a promise made in good faith.

"What do you want to do first? Madam Puddifoot's?"

Madam Puddifoot's: the usual haunt of Hogwarts couples. She heard the nervous inflection of his voice, as if asking something important. In no way was this a real date. She decided to let him down gently.

"The Three Broomsticks. I'm craving a butterbeer."

He nodded and looked away, though she caught his frown.

Surprisingly, the journey there wasn't fraught with uncomfortable silence like on the train. They stuck to safe subjects: the weather, the upcoming Victory Ball, the complaints of studies, but as they neared the Three Broomsticks, she realized Callum never once talked about himself. She knew next to nothing about him.

"Are you healing fine?" She asked.

The conversations dipped into silence for the first time.

Callum had never awoken from his slumber during the fight. The healers at St. Mungo's diagnosed him with a severe concussion, but other than a fracture in his leg, he was remarkably unscathed. A miracle, an Aurora told them.

"Pomfrey said I'm good as new." He ran a hand along the backside of his neck. "I've been meaning to thank you for saving me that night."

"Malfoy saved you too."

He rolled his eyes.

"Malfoy only saved himself. I'm surprised he even bothered with the moss. He must have had some ulterior motive."

"You know him so well?"

They reached the Three Broomsticks. Callum put his hand on the door.

"Enough to know I'm right."

He pushed in, revealing a small chaos. Students jumbled together, talking in excited voices, rubbing their mittens together to get the warm. Most of the tables had already been taken, but a table for two was nestled in the corner. When they sat down, their knees brushed, causing them to be closer than she desired. Two bright spots appeared on Callum's cheeks as they waited for their butterbeers.

Hermione opened her mouth to dispel the awkwardness, but before she could, the door of the Three Broomsticks opened again, and Malfoy, Zabini, and Goyle walked in.

Draco shook off the snow from his clothes at the entrance, a miniature flurry of snow cascading to the floor. In the process, he caught Hermione's eye. He froze, giving such a look of disgust, that if it contained magic, Callum would be a puddle of flobberworm excrement.

_Why do you always insist on adopting strays? It's as if you can't resist the pull of the pathetic. _

Draco's voice slithered in her mind, and she nearly jumped. She'd forgotten they were now linked again, this time against her consent.

_I've been spending a lot of time around you, if that's what you're getting at._

He blinked. In the past, he would sneer at the insult, but today the edge of his lip tilted up and disappeared faster than it appeared. If she wasn't watching him so closely, she would have missed it.

_I think I prefer you ill. _Draco continued. _You were more… generous. _

He had visited her in the infirmary room under the cover of darkness. At least, she thought he did. When she first woke up, she thought it had been all a dream. The way Draco's spell glowed blue on his hand, heating her skin, stitching it together. She could have sworn there was concern in his eyes… worry, as if he cared, though her skin buzzed with caution remembering Theo's words.

But Theo needn't warn her. Whatever this was, it wasn't love. It was a spark. A bolt of electricity.

It was just a little fun.

Callum touched her arm, and she jumped, realizing she forgot she came here with someone.

"They're taking an awful long time with the butterbeers," Hermione said.

Callum just gave her an odd look.

"I've been trying to talk to you," Callum said slowly. "But you were just staring off into space. Is something wrong?"

"What… oh, no, I'm just—"

"It's okay, I get it. I'm sure you were solving some world problem. I'll go ask about those drinks. "

Callum got up, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief to be alone with her thoughts.

_Meet me outside. _Draco said.

Hermione didn't meet his eyes, but she could imagine them piercing through her, eyes as pale as snow. The old magic itched under her skin, humming through the link. She felt it even now, if she concentrated. She drummed her fingers against the wood of the table.

_I promised Callum. _

_And you fulfilled it. _Draco's voice dripped down her spine. She wondered if she could touch him through the link, like he did her that one time. A ghost hand running down his muscled chest.

Callum returned with two butterbeers, froth overflowing the tops. She curled one into her hands. Butterbeer was the equivalent to liquid cauldron cakes to her taste buds. One of the more wondrous things about the wizarding world that couldn't be find in the muggle world.

She raised her butterbeer to her lips, taking large gulps until it drained, setting it down with a click.

If she met Draco outside, she knew exactly what would ensue, flesh and heat and roaming mouths. She should end this now, listen to the warnings.

But Hermione Granger was completely done denying herself things she wanted.

If war taught her anything, it was that time was precious. It can't be wasted. And sitting here with this dark-haired Slytherin was only wasting her time.

So what if it felt like jumping off the building. The thrill felt worth the fear.

_Where? _

A pause. Their eyes met. Zabini and Goyle sat next to him on the opposite side of the room, but he wasn't paying attention to them. He wore no expression, just tilted his head down a little, but she understood his question. She nodded, telling him she agreed to the tryst.

He gave a wicked smirk.

_Behind the Hog's Head._

Hermione put her attention back on Callum. Or at least she tried to, because the adrenaline spiked across her body in anticipation. Draco stood up, his gaze like a burn, little prickles erupting across her body.

"Hey, I know I promised to do to Honeydukes, but would you mind terribly if I meet up with Ginny for a bit."

"Sure, where would she be? Do you think she'd want a butterbeer to go?"

"Sorry, Callum," Hermione said. "Ginny's having a… bad day. I think she just wants me there."

Callum's eyes flashed briefly. A look that didn't fit his usual placid manners, but it vanished before she could analyze it.

"That's fine. Totally fine."

"We can still hang—"

"No, be with your friend. I'm sure she's going through a lot. Just like you are. No worries."

Hermione stood up.

"Thanks for understanding. It was great to get to know you."

"Maybe we could do it again sometime?"

He reminded her of a puppy dog, with his olive skin, curly hair, and grey eyes, giving her a pleading stare that made her feel like shit. But, in the end, she didn't owe him anything.

"Sure. I think we could be good friends."

"Friends… well, yeah, I thought that too." He gave her a look that said he definitely did not think that too.

She was sure he said a few more things, but she couldn't listen to him anymore.

Urgency flared through her, as if she snorted Cocaine and the initial rush raced through her body.

She walked out, knowing who would follow.

**Hermione **

When she rounded a corner, a hand shot out and pulled her in, leaving her face to face with Draco Malfoy. He gripped the sides of her face, turned her so her back pushed into the wall, and kissed her. Her legs went up on instinct, wrapping around his hips.

"We need to go out further. Someone might see us," she said.

They were out of the way of usual footpath, but all it took was a curious student, a giggling group of girls wanting to gossip out of the way, a couple wizards wanting to explore.

"Would you care if they did?" His lips left her face, travelling along her throat. It messed with her head, making her brain feel as if it was short-circuiting.

Did she care if people found out about them? Draco didn't seem to care. Not in the way she thought he would. Not with the way his hands inched under her thick, woolen ropes searching for flesh to touch, frantically pushing barriers out of the way. Even though she had her reservations, she didn't stop him. She even whimpered when he succeeded, the pads of his fingers brushing against the scars on her belly. His hand ran along her ribs, as if counting each bone, inching upwards, playing with the edge of her bra, slipping halfway under. He watched her face intently, as if catching the little movements: The sharp intake of breath, mouth slightly open, back arching into his movements.

"No one can know," she said. "I'm still supposed to hate you. I do still hate you"

His eyes sparked, and he slipped his hand under her bra. Her nipple hardened under his thumb.

"Good. Say it again."

"I hate you."

"Mmm, Granger. Keep saying that. It will only make this more fun."

She let herself drown, sinking into the escape he offered.

**Draco**

Hermione melted into him, pressing tight against his body. He put both his hands on the wall to give her leverage as she tilted her hips close, making little circular movements they both leaned into. Her little whimpers almost undid him. And they became lost in sensation.

She was clay in his hands, waiting to be shaped. He was sure she wouldn't say no if he tried to take things further.

"What the fuck?" Someone cursed behind him.

Hermione gasped and sprung backward, shoving at him, hitting at his shoulder. Reluctantly, Draco let her go and turned around. Whoever interrupted them—when he was so close to getting what he desired after months of waiting—was going to pay dearly.

"I'm sorry," Granger said.

He turned to find Weasley, eyes wide with shock, with a stupid expression of hurt. He'd been waiting to see this exact expression for years. And it was just as beautiful as he imagined. Malfoy almost wanted to smirk or taunt him but knew it wouldn't endear his witch.

Hermione stepped forward.

"I was… I was just—"

"Save it." Weasel began walking away but as if he couldn't help himself, he twisted back around. "You know, I thought you were better than this. How could you lower yourself—" He sucked in a breath. "I didn't realize you were such a whore, but I guess I shouldn't expect anything more from a _mudblood_."

Hermione gasped, hands cradling her stomach, as if he had just hit her in the face.

Draco had his wand out in two seconds and under the sniveling wizard's nose. To his credit, Ron didn't tremble with the threat like he used to.

"I don't pay for my women," Draco said in a calm voice that meant he was serious. "So I'm going to need an apology. And she needs one as well."

"Don't, Malfoy," Hermione began. "Just—"

"Fuck you," the Weasel screamed. Ugly red blotches crawled up his skin, matching his hair.

"Even if I swung that way, you're not my type," Draco glanced backward. Granger looked a little pale. "Not Hermione's either, it seems."

Ron's jaw and fist clenched. And he looked at Draco as if he was a second away from hurting him muggle style. Draco recognized it, but he didn't care. The oversized garden gnome wouldn't lift a finger because he knew he'd be flattened before he could swing.

"Just shut up, Malfoy. You're only making things worse." Hermione straightened her clothes, tears springing from her eyes and dripping down her cheeks. He'd never understand why she would cry for such a pathetic tosser.

"Don't bother trying to explain," Weasley spat. "I'm not sure things can get worse. If this is your way of getting back at me, Hermione, then I guess you've won. Just don't bother ever talking to me ever again."

"Ron—" Granger began, but Ron stormed off, almost running around the corner.

Out of all the people to find them, it just had to be fucking Weasley. His body ached with unfulfilled tension. He glanced at Granger. Lips red as blood. Hair wild. Face a mess of tears.

"I hazard a guess I won't be able to convince you to continue what we were doing."

She gave him a look as if she considered throwing a few painful spells at him.

"What if he tells people?"

Draco shrugged.

"So what if he does?"

The thought of Ron finding out about them probably made Hermione ill. Draco didn't care if anyone knew. Let them find out. Let them know Hermione Granger was his. It would stop the advances of wizards like Callum, who wouldn't dare poach in his territory.

Hermione puffed a breath into her mittens to warm her nose and drug the wool down her face to swipe off the tears.

"Please, leave. I need… I need some time alone. To think."

Draco looked at her lips again, swollen, bee kissed. He wished to pull her into another kiss. Someday he'd be able to do that anytime he wanted. He'd make sure of that. But today he'd do as she desired.

It didn't matter. Let her think on it. In the end, he made his choice the moment he stuck the knife in his skin and drank her blood.

She was his. He just needed to convince her of the same thing. He refused to lose her to a wanker like Callum Mason or Ronald fucking Weasley.

"Don't think too hard, Granger. Some things are best left to magic."

**Hermione**

Hermione walked back to Hogwarts, wanting to let the quiet help her contemplate. Soon enough she was alone, since almost everyone else was back at Hogsmeade. The snow crunched under her boots with each step, and she wrapped her coat more securely around her frame, attempting to keep the wind from biting her skin.

"I'm here to collect my first favor," a voice cut into the silence.

The Death Eater stepped from behind a tree, brazenly wearing his black robes and silver mask. Green moss eyes peeked out of the darkness and metal.

Hermione stiffened. She backed away, one step at a time, as the Death Eater marched forward.

"How did you get around the security and wards?"

"Wards are only as good as their specifications." The Death Eater shrugged. "And security only sees what it wishes. I only pulled out my mask now."

One step. Two. Three. Four. Her back hit the trunk of a tree. She could run, if she wished. But she doubted she'd get very far. She could fight, but without knowing who it was, she ran the risk of overextending her hand. Besides, a wizarding debt was legally binding. He could take her to court and demand compliance, and no one could help her.

If he walked around without a mask, getting by security, it meant he was someone recognizable. Someone other people knew and trusted. Or at least tolerated.

A pureblood for sure. But which one?

He walked forward until he was only an arm's length away from her.

"I'm going to need you to raise your shirt."

Hermione reeled back in confusion.

"What… I mean… but why?"

"Just do it."

Was this the favor? Hermione trembled. She didn't often fear, but this man held a lot of power over her, more than she'd given to anyone ever before. What exactly was it he wanted?

She hesitated, but reached under her jacket, pulling up the bottom of her shirt. Just as her belly button was exposed, he placed a gloved hand on her wrist.

"That's high enough."

She gauged nothing from his moss greed eyes as he searched the skin of her lower stomach. She wondered what he was looking for.

"My scars are a little higher, if that's what you're after."

"I'm sure your scars are impressive, but they aren't what I came here for." He placed his hand on a spot just below her belly button to the right.

"How long have you had this?"

He pointed to a birthmark. She always thought it was shaped like a heart, though her mother called it her strawberry.

"My birthmark?"

The Death Eater nodded. Hermione was suddenly worried for the Death Eaters mental health.

"Well it's a birth mark… so birth."

"It's not from the sun?"

"I've always had it, I think." Hermione resisted the desire to feel if his forehead was hot. Was the man ill?

He pulled her shirt down, but the icy chill remained on her stomach.

"Is that all?"

"No," he said. "Now I'm going to need your blood."

Bark dug into her clothes as she pressed her back further into the tree.

"Is that your second favor?"

She could swear his eyes looked remorseful.

"You should have been careful. I haven't even extracted my first favor yet, you only thought I did… but now I will." He tugged out his wand. She lifted her wrists in warning. But he only said, "I invoke the Wizard debt."

The magic tingled under her skin. He tricked her by getting her to lift her shirt, and now by the laws of magic she owed him what he asked.

"Now give me your blood."

She trembled as he grabbed her wrist.

"How much blood?"

That too wasn't specific. It could be a drop. It could be every drop in her body.

"Only a little." He placed the tip to her palm and whispered a cutting spell. A small line of blood welled to the surface as he reached into his robe pocket and extracted a vial. He closed her palm and turned her wrist and squeezed until it trickled into the glass.

"What do you need my blood for?"

"Answers."

"Who are you?"

He let go of her hand. The blood still trickled, dotting onto the fresh snow.

"I'm not sure yet."

Definitely mad. And she still owed this insane person talking nonsense a second favor. Her mind worked, landing on a solution to get her out of the debt.

"This is about the Grimoire, isn't it? Some grudge."

"Yes and no."

His cryptic answers enraged her. But she couldn't lose her temper yet.

"You do realize the only way I'll give it back is if you use your second favor to ask for it."

He pocketed her vial of blood and his wand.

"You'll need it more, I think. Use it wisely."

That threw her a little. Why would he want a muggleborn touching his grimoire?

"It doesn't even work for me."

"It will. You just need to give it something first."

"But what?"

The man pulled out a locket, much more beautiful than the Horcrux she helped destroy. It was shaped like a heart, with a diamond in the center.

"What does old magic desire more than anything?" He said. "It's everything to some people and nothing to others."

The locket began to glow.

"Just fucking tell me what I—"

The Death Eater vanished with the locket. It was a portkey, either legal or illegal. It didn't matter to most Purebloods, because the laws bent for them.

An icy wind blew, whipping her hair to the side, nipping at her skin. The goosebumps on her arm had nothing to do with the cold because she just figured out his riddle.

The grimoire wanted blood, just like the Death Eater. Maybe hers. Maybe someone else's.

_It's everything to some people and nothing to others. _

Hermione wondered which side the Death Eater belonged to, wondered what he planned to do with a vial of her blood, wondered what else he could possibly want from her.


	19. A Killer Shade of Red

**Song Suggestion: **XYLØ- "Yes and No"

**A Killer Shade of Red**

**Hermione**

Hermione weaved through the hallways of the castle towards the library, taking care to avoid people. The space darkened, void of windows. The torches lit her way.

She was so distracted, wrapped up in her mind, she almost missed the figures walking towards her, whispering furiously.

Hermione recognized the voice and pressed herself behind the first object she could find—a tapestry immortalizing Elfidra Clagg. The stitched trolls grumbled at being jostled for the first time in ages, raising their clubs with dumb expressions on their faces, swiping imaginary foes.

Hermione bit the edge of her hand to silence herself as Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass rounded the corner.

"You haven't even asked him, have you?" She asked.

"Of course, I have."

"You're lying. What are you so afraid of? What's the worst he could do."

Draco stopped and raised one eyebrow.

"Quite a bit."

Astoria pursed her lips and crossed her arms on her chest. Her skin looked paler than normal, and dark circles marred her ivory skin. Hermione used to own a few porcelain dolls when she was younger, and Astoria would be indistinguishable if placed beside one.

Hermione thought she wasn't the jealous type, or the type who jumped to conclusions, but she now realized it was just because she had never been jealous before. The feeling twisted and grew wings and claws in her heart.

Hermione tried not to give away her position, but she nearly hung out the side of the tapestry to get a good view as the trolls continued to swat. The two Slytherins began walking again.

"It's not long now," Astoria said.

"You don't have to remind me. I've been trying to figure it all out, but let's just say it's ironclad."

"There has to be a loophole. There's always a loophole."

Draco sighed and rubbed his hands through his hair. He looked older than the boy that pulled her behind a building to snog senseless an hour ago. As if he let a mask drop.

"Have you told her?" Astoria asked softly.

Draco sighed.

"There's no need yet."

"This won't end well for any of us," Astoria said in a voice like glass, clear and breakable.

"Not for all of us, no." Draco shoved his hands in his pockets. "But I intend for it to work out for me." He passed her tapestry. She attempted to make everything on her body cease functioning while he passed, but the scent of his expensive cologne still found her.

**Hermione**

Instead of the library, Hermione tore through the hallways to her room. While she walked, she flipped the conversation she overheard in her brain, shaking it to reveal hidden coins. No matter how she turned the conversation to different angles, she couldn't figure out what made them so worried. She needed more context, which led her back to the most important question:

Why were Draco and Astoria having private discussions in the first place?

The unfamiliar feeling of drowning in jealousy overtook her. It whirled until it became a tornado, wanting to destroy the things attempting to take what she desired.

But her rational mind won out. No one wanted to steal anything from her, and it's not as if she owned him in the first place.

Anyway, what they had between them meant nothing. It was all just a little fun.

She tried to convince herself of that as she barged into the common room, ignoring the hellos of people she knew and barreled into her room. Ginny startled out of her bed, hair in a wild red halo on her head.

"Why are you sleeping in my bed… oh, never mind. I don't care. Can you help me with something?"

"Sure."

Hermione tugged off the beaded purse and dug inside, extracting the black tube of lipstick. She uncapped it, twisting the bottom until it careened upwards.

Ginny eyed the makeup in confusion, standing upright.

"Do you… want me to help you apply it?"

"No," Hermione held it out to her friend. "I want you to put it on."

Both Ginny's eyes narrowed in a shrewd look.

"This is no ordinary lipstick, is it? You're researching something."

Hermione shrugged in answer, and it was all the acknowledgment Ginny needed.

She grabbed the lipstick.

"If I do this, you have to bring me on your next adventure. I want to be a part of it. No more leaving me behind."

Hermione hesitated. She hated bringing her friends into potentially dangerous situations. What if the next adventure sent them straight to the dangerous end of Rosewood's wand? He was still around, somewhere, posing a threat just by existing.

"Fine," Hermione said.

Ginny walked towards the mirror and pursed her lips, then leaned forward and swiped a trail of glistening red on her lips.

"There's no denying it's a killer shade of red, even if its potentially nefarious. When you solve this mystery, you have to find out where they got it from."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She had never understood girls and their obsession with makeup. She'd grown to like a little mascara and gloss, but other than that it seemed a bit useless.

Ginny popped her lips and twisted. The shade of red was a perfect match for her hair.

"Any change?" Hermione asked.

"Why are you asking me?" Ginny placed a hand on her hip. "Lipstick is meant to entice."

"Of course." Hermione wanted to smack her head with the palm of her hand for being dense. Lipstick was an offensive move in the world of human courtship, meant to lure in prey.

Just as she thought it, the effects became noticeable. Her brain felt a little fuzzy, almost dizzy with euphoria. She gave a long, deep sniff to the air as she staggered forward. And as she did, she instantly remembered what this smelled like.

"Freshly mowed grass," she whispered. "New parchment and spearmint toothpaste… and… and…" Just like the last time, she refused to say out loud the last thing. Previously, she smelled Ron's hair, but it had changed with time. Now, Draco's expensive cologne lingered in the air.

"Amortentia." Ginny stepped backward in horror. "You're not going to throw yourself at me, are you? You're very pretty, but you lack the parts I like."

Hermione shook her head.

"No," she said. "It just makes me want to get closer, but I can fight it. A true love potion is more intense."

"Then what does it all mean?"

"That Astoria told the truth. It wasn't a spell. Just a trick. A bit of watered down Amortentia infused into her lipstick, not meant to be ingested." Hermione walked to her bed and sat down and clutched her head. A sudden headache pounded behind her eyes as she tried to sort it out. "It meant Ron could have fought it, if he wanted. But he liked the smell too much, reminded him of everything he loved."

"Ron's such a mess, I'm not sure why she bothered." Ginny sat down next to her.

The edges started to click together. The way Ron huffed and crossed his arms. The way Astoria hedged around the words, as if she couldn't outright tell him, as if compelled by magic to stay silent.

"She didn't do it for herself," Hermione concluded. She wanted to hate Astoria outright, but she looked just as put out as Ron, tears streaming down her face, trying to explain something.

"That's just stupid. Who else would want that Greengrass bitch to snog my brother?"

"Someone with the right motivation."

And as the words exited her mouth, everything made sense.

She knew exactly who had the right motivation.

"I'm going to fuck your girl soon, Weasel," Draco taunted. He gave a little smirk, dripping with malice. "I hope to say it to your face one day. But for now, thanks for being predictable and making it easy."

Their conversation she stumbled into earlier took a sinister tone. Familiar. Close. Even if he sneered as if he didn't like Astoria.

Draco Malfoy is the only person in the world with the right motivation to somehow con Astoria Greengrass to kiss Ronald Weasley—the only other person who held Hermione's affection.

Draco bet on Ron's desire to escape reality. It must have been like a muggle drug to his mind. Draco also engineered Hermione stumbling on it and getting angry enough to shut Ron out.

Hermione leaned her head forward. Ginny placed a comforting hand on her back. "I'm so fucking stupid."

A beat of silence and then the bed shook with Ginny's laughter.

"Finally," Ginny exclaimed. "I've been waiting for you to do something normal."

"How is this normal?"

"This is all about Draco, right?"

"How do you know that?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and held up the tube of lipstick.

"This is probably worth more than my house. Amortentia is a substantial sum of money. There aren't many wizards willing to throw down that amount of cash on something so trivial. If money's involved, there's a high chance it can be traced back to Malfoy."

Hermione slumped forward. All the energy left her body.

"So what do I do?"

Her brain and heart hurt. It felt like betrayal, like Draco lied to her. But he never did, really. He always told Hermione exactly who he was. She just never believed him.

"There's three options." Ginny eyes gained the glint of mischief that made her look Slytherin. "You can act like nothing is wrong, have your fun, and leave. That option is only for the people who don't care." Ginny gave a glance telling Hermione this option was not a good idea. "Or number two, you can leave him now. This is probably the one I should steer you. It's the route good girls with respectable futures choose. The most painful, but it'll end with a clean, severed blow."

Hermione grabbed the tube from Ginny, careening it up and down, watching the red appear and disappear as the considered.

"What's the third option?"

Hermione could never act like nothing was wrong. And she wasn't strong enough yet to sever the bond between them, the literal one made of old magic, and the figurative one made of heart strings.

Ginny flashed a set of brilliant white teeth, lips still stained red. The smell of his cologne did strange things in her mind as it always did.

The rage under her skin boiled, as if painful and hot to the touch. She was afraid if she moved too fast, she'd boil alive like Cantan Nott.

"Or, number three, you can play his game," she said. "Manipulate him like he manipulated you. Though… I must warn you it'll only drag you in deeper."

Hermione huffed out a laugh, almost expecting a puff of smoke. She should end this complicated tug and pull between her and Malfoy.

But revenge sounded delightful.

**Hermione**

Hermione ignored Malfoy for the next few days. He attempted to corner her, but by this point, she was several steps ahead of his usual tricks. Honestly, it wasn't too complicated. Just avoid lonely hallways where he could corner her alone.

Only in Potions was she unable to avoid him. He leaned in over their smoking potion with a glare.

"What's your problem?"

In answer, she added a cupful of gnat heads. They dropped into the liquid and turned it a bright blue, a tad shade brighter than she intended.

"I think we might have added too much Bitter root," she said.

"No, it was the Newt spleen. You sliced it when it should have been diced."

"You might be right, for once."

"You're trying to avoid the question." His blond hair brushed in front of his eyes in a way that always made her heart flutter, even before all this mess began.

"Is this about the Weasel?" He asked.

"So what if it is?"

"You're not still pining over him, are you? Because that would be a little pathetic. Do I need to remind you how you caught the wanker shoving Astoria up a wall?"

"Yes, do remind me of that night," Hermione clipped out. "Some of the details have become muddled."

Draco paused, searching her face.

Professor Gianna cut the conversation short.

"Please turn in a vial of your potion to the front. I want an essay about your process and improvement on my desk in a week."

Hermione started to gather her materials but was stopped by Draco's hand on her elbow in a position no one could see. It felt like a brand on her skin. A searing, burning heat.

"Tell me what's wrong."

Hermione huffed a breath.

"I'm not going to tell you. You need to tell me. Only after that will I decide what to do." She tugged out of his grasp. To his credit, he didn't try and grab her again. "Until then, leave me alone."

His face hardened, mouth clenched until his lips turned bloodless, as white as his hair.

Since then, he obeyed her, though she felt his eyes everywhere. In the great hall. In potions. In the library. He hovered around her like a wraith, fury as cold as a polar wind.

**Hermione**

Hermione found Callum in the library, with his head in a book. His mop of curly dark hair was the only thing she could see, and the sight endeared her. So few boys loved to read like she did, and it was refreshing to find one.

Hermione ignored the voice in the back of her head that reminded her Draco liked to read as well.

"Hey," she said, sliding into the seat across from him.

Callum Mason snapped his head up, answering with a wide smile. It was his best feature, lighting up his whole face from within like a glowing sun. A tooth in the corner was crooked. The slight imperfection added to his charm, like a dimple.

He closed the book and gave a sarcastic bow of his head. "Good morning, Gryffindor Princess, Brains of the Golden Trio, Hermione Granger, first of her name. What's up?"

The other people in the library stared at them, though they tried to act like they didn't, whispering to each other over books with furtive glances.

"Do you have a date to the dance?" Hermione said.

His whole body froze, and he sat up straighter.

"No. Why?"

Hermione shrugged.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go with me."

He glanced around at the other people in the room and then back at her.

"Are you joking with me? There's not someone behind the counter with a quick-quotes quill?"

"No, though I wouldn't put it past the third years giggling three tables down."

"Isn't there someone else you'd rather go with than me?"

Hermione bit her lip in amusement.

"Do you not want to go with me?"

"Are you fucking joking? Of course, I want to go with you. I just—I never thought—well, aren't I supposed to ask you?"

"It's the modern age. A woman can ask a man but go ahead and ask me, if you want."

He grinned, grey eyes sparking.

"Well, I'm never one to let good luck slide by me. Hermione Granger, do you want to go the winter ball with me?"

She winked at him with her own grin.

"Pick me up at seven. And not a minute later. I detest being late."

He gave a mock military salute.

Such a muggle thing to do. She'd forgotten he was only a half blood. He must have been raised in the muggle world, which was interesting given the house he belonged.

She stood up as he cracked back open the book to the right page even without a bookmark. As she stepped out of the library, she heard the whispers rise to a crescendo, loud enough Madame Pince shushed them.

She could almost hear them: Hermione Granger is going to the ball with a Slytherin!

Hermione wondered how fast it would take for Malfoy to hear the news. Wondered how fast Hogwarts spread gossip.

Like wildfire, she bet.

**Hermione**

Hermione walked into the head meeting. Three people beat her there. Callum's eyes brightened when she appeared. Draco just leaned back and placed his heel on the edge of his knee in an elegant movement. Hermione avoided looking at the spot Clara used to sit. It taunted her, a haunted place.

Instead, McGonagall perched on the edge of a separate seat, looking as feline as her Animagus.

"You're late," Draco drawled. He looked pointedly at her, as if to perform legilimency.

"I was just finishing up the last bit of planning."

Hermione plunked down a massive stack of papers, each outlining the decorations, music, and food the party needed down to the last enchanted snowflake. She'd been working on it like a mad woman as a distraction.

Draco gave a loud snort at the amount of papers she produced.

"We didn't need a book," he snarked.

Both Hermione and McGonagall threw him a sharp look.

McGonagall reached out and slid the papers toward her, rifling through them with an efficient speed.

"I can always count on you, Hermione, to give me quality work. I'll review what you've written, but I trust you've done a splendid job."

Draco gave a long sip of water. The cords of magic between them thrummed, like an invisible hand plucked a cord on the guitar. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but it wasn't terrible either. Just made her want to wiggle in her seat.

Stop it.

Make me.

Okay then. Below her chair she twisted her hand, and the glass in his hands exploded. The shards sprinkled to the ground.

Draco choked, McGonagall gasped, Callum edged away, and Hermione smirked.

"My apologies," Draco gasped with a frown. He vanished the broken glass and its splattered contents with a wave of his wand. "I must have grasped too tight."

"You really should be more careful," Hermione said as sweetly as possible.

"I agree, Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall brushed at the front of her legs.

"Is there anything else we'll be needing?" Callum asked. He glanced between Hermione and Draco with a furrowed brow.

"Well, yes," McGonagall said. Her voice was oddly soft. Hermione knew which subject she was about to broach. "Clara Hightower was a brilliant student and wonderful friend to many. It saddens me the continued loss we must face, even after the war. Be that as it may, we still need to address the fact her absence leaves a hole. It will be your decision as a collective on what to do about it. If you wish, we'll leave the head girl spot as is. And if you wish, we can fill it with a desired candidate."

They all avoided looking at each other, locked in memories they wished to forget. The sound of Clara's body collapsing into the dirt. Her eyes open and empty.

"I vote to fill it," Hermione said.

Draco raised an eyebrow in surprise and so did McGonagall.

"Any reason for this decision?" Draco asked.

"It just doesn't feel right for it to be empty."

"And who would you suggest?" McGonagall asked.

Hermione gave one sharp look to Draco.

"Astoria Greengrass."

Draco pulled the heel of his boot off his knee, placing both feet on the ground.

"And why would you do that?" He asked, voice deadly as a blade.

He meant to intimidate in the same way his father threatened people. A question lying on the edge of a sword.

But Hermione wasn't a woman easily intimidated.

"She's third in rankings for her class, just below Callum. The spot should go to whoever earns it. Besides that, she seems to make friends with just about everyone. Wouldn't you agree, Draco?"

Draco narrowed his eyes in response. If McGonagall sensed an underlying meaning between the two of them, she certainly held her tongue. Or she just didn't care for the drama of students. Callum did though. His eyes bounced between them, as if watching a ping pong match.

"Not everyone. I find her a little inane." Draco cocked his head to the side. "Though, if that's who you vote for, I'll agree to it."

"Splendid," McGonagall said. Even in praise, her voice came out clipped. "I'm pleased to see the progress you two have made this year attempting to be civil. You've become great role models for the students. At the winter victory ball, the ministry expect candid photos together, maybe a dance. Your time in Romania has earned the interest of several countries, and the ministry will want to capitalize on that. Though you are still just students, so it is up to you."

Draco gave an elegant shrug.

"I'm willing to dance, if she is."

Dancing with Draco? The magic sparked at her fingertips at the thought. Hermione didn't know if the feeling was anger or excitement.

"A dance never hurt anybody," Hermione answered.

**Draco **

McGonagall ended the meeting. The old cat gave a nod, gaze lingering on Hermione in fondness. She had always favored Granger, even back when she was nothing but an annoying know-it-all sidekick.

Callum stood up next.

"Do you want me to walk you back to your dorm?" He directed the question to Hermione.

And just like that, Draco's whole body erupted with tingles. He wished to show Callum Mason exactly who he fucked with. Granger too. She asked the wanker to the dance on purpose just to piss him off. And she did it in front of some fourth years gossips, so it didn't take long for him to hear about it.

"I already promised to walk her back," Draco interrupted before Granger could answer. "You can scurry off because there's several important things I need to talk about with the head girl."

Callum paused a second, as if contemplating disobeying a direct order, which would have been really fucking stupid for someone with his pedigree. He grimaced, but the sense returned. Like a boy that's been whipped, Callum shut his mouth in a thin, ridged line and walked out the door, slamming the door behind him.

It left only a glaring Hermione in the room. Waves of anger radiated off her. He didn't even need to see the small sparks of magic at her fingertips to understand she was moments from snapping.

Draco leaned back as if unaffected, though his whole body felt tight.

"This is about Astoria," he said. "That much is clear. How did you find out?"

Hermione reached down into her damned purse, curls falling in front of her face, and withdrew a small black object.

"I assume you recognize this."

Draco sat back in his chair, assessing the situation. When he was seven, he snuck into his father's study, wishing to play with all the enchanted objects. The situation he faced was not much different. He needed to proceed with caution. Touching the wrong nerve could result in catastrophe.

"It cost forty galleons," he admitted.

Hermione uncapped it, revealing the glistening red. She placed it to her lips, swiping left and right. Then she rubbed her lips together, separating them with a pop.

Seconds later a familiar scent filled the room. When he first sniffed Amortentia as a child, it smelled of quidditch leather and the metal scent of money. It now smelled like mint toothpaste, lavender, and soap.

It went through his veins, travelling to his heart, to his head.

He wished to drag Hermione from her seat, sitting so primly on the edge of the chair. Wished to let her red lipstick smear across his face.

But he controlled himself. She was just fucking with him. He knew this by the cruel little smirk she had cultivated just for him.

"Don't go with him to the dance," he asked her. He couldn't hide the plea in the words, though he detested begging.

It bothered him more than it should. He never cared who else Pansy fucked around with. But the idea of Mason's hand on the small of her back made him want to throw another Avada.

"I can go with whomever I wish," Hermione said. He imagined himself back in his father's study, reaching out to touch a necklace only for it to turn into molten lava. "The dance will be the last day of term. The next day we leave for winter break." Hermione stood up. She stashed the lipstick back into her beaded purse and headed toward the door. "So if you haven't convinced me to forgive you by the end of the dance, don't even bother trying."

Draco stewed in his dark thoughts for hours, attempting to climb back out of the hold he dug himself. But he discovered he had no fucking clue how to woo Hermione Granger back into his arms.

**Draco **

Draco whisked himself along the Hogwarts hallways, pale as the ghosts. It was past curfew, but he was head boy, and it gave him leeway. He slammed into the dormitory. It didn't take long finding his target.

Callum Mason sat in one of the oversized Chesterfield leather couches perched in front of a roaring fire with a book on his lap. Everything glowed green, and the lake swished against the windows. If he looked closely, he could spot a mermaid skittering by.

"Everyone out." He pointed his wand in Mason's direction. "Except you."

It took thirty seconds for the room to clear, students scrambling over themselves to do his bidding. They learned long ago the consequences of lack of respect. The only one who forgot the lessons, it seemed, glared back at him.

He may not be able to convince Granger to forgive him, but he'd be dammed if he let her walk into that dance hanging off the arm of a second-rate wizard like Mason.

"I'm assuming you want to speak about Hermione."

"Correct." Deadly spells sat on the tip of his tongue. He had planned on entering and exiting this conversation in a calm manner, but he was in a foul mood, and his skin itched to blast something.

"Jealousy makes you look pathetic," Mason said.

Draco was so stunned he didn't respond right away. No one had ever challenged the order of things, his place at the top of the pack. The Malfoy name gave him the title, but his cruelty secured it. He had the ability to ruin people, and this little upstart decided this was the time to bark back.

"Here's what you'll do." Draco walked over and sat in the leather sofa opposite him, keeping his wand aimed. The sofa creaked, still not worn in, despite years of use. "First, you'll get on your knees and grovel. Apologize sweet enough and I may just forget your infractions."

"And second?" Mason tried to act like he wasn't affected, but he clenched his teeth after.

"Second, you'll go tell Hermione you're already going with Pansy to the dance."

The seconds ticked by as they sat there, with his wand trained on him and Callum unmoving. Finally, Callum shut his book and set it aside.

"At the start of the year, I had hoped we'd get along." Callum leaned back, putting his hand on his knee in a movement that seemed familiar. "But I'm coming to find we can't, and that there isn't room for both of us."

Draco narrowed his eyes.

"What the fuck are you rambling on about?"

Mason stood and Draco lowered his wand. No matter how much he wanted to hurt him, Malfoy power was about money, connections, and influence, not force. Draco wouldn't make his move until he knew everything about him: past, future, strengths, weaknesses, fears, and motivation. Only then could he slide Mason around on the chess board.

"One day, Draco," Mason sneered. "I'm going to steal everything from you. For now, I'll start with Hermione Granger. Cantan Nott was right about one thing… she'll be a perfect little whore. I bet she's dangerous in bed as she is out of it. After I fuck her, I'll be sure to send you my thanks for sending her into my arms."

Despite his good sense and plans, Draco snapped.

"Crucio!"

The spell bounced off a strong shield.

"Your problem," Masons said behind a blue wall of magic. "Is you've never been challenged properly. Except for little tussles with the golden boy, you've never faced an equal opponent. I promise I won't stop until you've experienced the same bitterness I have."

The shield failed, leaving them both panting, glaring at one another.

"You're going to regret this very soon," Draco said. "Your mother is a mudblood, correct? It wouldn't be hard to find out where she works. Shame for her to lose a job right before Christmas."

Mason blinked a few times.

"You've no idea what you're even saying. You must understand I have all the cards, and if you're not careful, I'll play them."

Callum smiled and left the common room, leaving Draco alone. He sunk back into the leather couch, once again alone with his thoughts.

Except this time, he had one more thing to consider. Callum Mason lied about Romania. He said he was unconscious, but he gave himself away without even realizing it.

Cantan Nott was right about one thing… she'll be a perfect little whore

He knew what Cantan had said, which means he was awake to hear it.

It only led him to the question: Why lie? Callum Mason had hidden skeletons, and Draco was determined to unearth them.


	20. Something Dangerous

**Song Suggestion:** Megan Davies- "Dark Horse" (Acoustic Katy Perry cover)

**Something Dangerous**

**Hermione**

Hermione opened the portrait and exited the Gryffindor common room to find Callum already waiting for her.

For the last two hours, Hermione was subject to Ginny's whims as she helped her get ready for the dance—something the youngest Weasley had wanted to do for years. Her face felt heavy with product, but she couldn't deny Ginny did an awesome job, ending with a delicate cat eye and bright red lipstick.

Callum put a hand over his heart.

"You're going to give the prim purebloods heart attacks with that muggle dress of yours."

Wizarding society tended to be conservative when it came to their attire. Dresses went to the ankles, the upper shins if brave enough. The less skin shown, the better. Hermione knew this, but she was tired of following their absurd rules.

"This old thing?" Hermione ran her hand down the deep red velvet, an homage to her house. It dropped to the floor, a mocking gesture to pureblood culture, but it fit like a glove and when she stepped a leg out, it revealed a slit up to the middle of her thigh. "You haven't seen the best part."

Hermione twisted around, looking at Callum over her shoulder and watched his sudden expression of surprise. His dimple soon appeared along with a delighted smile.

Where the front of her dress covered her arms and sliced across her shoulders in an angular cut, the back revealed bare skin all the way to her hips.

"Well, I'm not sure exactly what statement you're trying to make, but I feel like a luckiest bloke on Earth to be able to escort you today."

Callum held out his arm, grey eyes sparking. Hermione grabbed the crook of his elbow.

"My whole life I've fought for my place in this society. I refuse to bury my heritage just to please other people."

"You and I have similar views," he said. "It's why I think we get along."

**Draco**

Draco walked into the great hall, taking a moment to admire the decorations. Green moss lined the ground, spongy when stepped on. A delicate fog wrapped around his ankles and purple flowers bloomed in the background. Giant trees supplanted from the forbidden forest sprouted up from the old stone ground, and the ceiling glittered with stars and a low, full moon. A light dusting of faux snow lined the treetops and fell like powdered sugar. When touched, it disappeared.

"You really outdid yourself," Blaise said beside him.

Draco scoffed.

"As if Hermione would ever let me touch the planning."

"Hermione now, is it?" Blaise arched an elegant eyebrow. Draco held in a curse. Zabini knew him well enough to pick up the undercurrents. Though, out of anyone, the Italian wasn't one to judge.

"Your careful observations are not appreciated."

"Yes, master Draco," Blaise mimicked a house elf.

Pany's talons grabbed onto his arm, as if he might disappear if she eased up. Honestly, he forgot she was even there. He didn't even remember asking her. She just showed up.

"This looks so… tacky." Pansy sneered at the decorations.

"By your choice of dress," Blaise looked Pansy up and down. "Maybe you shouldn't try to define what's tacky or—"

The rest of the sentence became lost in Draco's brain. The world shuttered, filtering in and out of focus. The only bright pinpoint was Hermione Granger entering the great hall in a dark red dress bordering on evil, hair coiled up in smooth waves, and lips as red as blood. The dress stuck tight to her skin, as if painted on. A muggle dress for sure. And though it appeared to be appropriate, when she stepped forward, a slit opened to her upper thigh, revealing flashes of toned golden skin.

But that was nothing to when Granger gave a twist to greet the female weasel. The entire back of her dress was… gone.

He was sure a little groan left him at the sight.

"A brave choice, even for a Gryffindor," Blaise said, bringing him back to reality. "Embracing muggle culture, especially today, won't win her any favors." He was looking at Draco shrewdly, but Draco didn't care what conclusions he came to.

So wrapped up in looking at Granger, he almost missed the owner of the arm she gripped. Callum Mason met his glare and gave a slight nod, as if issuing a challenge, a look of defiance.

Draco curled his hand next to his pocket that held his wand.

"Drakey," Pansy whined in a voice like nails on his brain. "I'm bored. Let's dance."

"Not now, Pans." He pointed to the refreshment table. "Go and get us both some drinks."

Pansy pouted but gathered her purse to her chest with a huff and stomped her way over to the table displaying snacks and butterbeer. In the end, Pansy always did what she was told.

It left Blaise beside him, watching the dance floor. Callum and Hermione were in each other's arms, already twirling to the music. The piece of wizard scum whispered something in her ear, and she tipped her head back and laughed. With each turn, she flashed the expanse of smooth skin. Draco wished to slick his finger down her spine. Wished to rage. Wished to vanish the damn enchanted snowflakes.

Instead, he nodded in Callum's direction.

"I have a project for you, Blaise."

Blaise stuck his hands into his name brand robes. He always looked dapper, the type of person who could never be poor. Which was a good thing, because society didn't tolerate gay men, unless their pockets clinked with gold. In the end, he was the only person Draco trusted for the job.

"I don't do things for free."

"Of course."

Blaise didn't work for money. He didn't need too. He had so many galleons, his family owned two vaults at Gringotts. Just like Draco, they worked in favors. A whisper in an ear. A position on the board of directors. A meeting with a politician.

Blaise watched where Draco glared, at Callum and Granger, at how his hand touched the bare skin on her back, going lower to the place it curved.

"You want Mason's head?"

He didn't mean it literally. He meant it in the way that mattered.

Draco nodded.

"I want to know everything about him. Down to what he ate for his birthday when he was ten. Give me something twisted. I know he's hiding something."

"I'm sure it won't be too hard."

"He needs to be taught a lesson. A hard, painful lesson. I want him to know how it can hurt to cross a Malfoy."

**Hermione**

A traditional pureblood song began playing. It involved a dance Hermione didn't know too well, with complicated turns and dips.

Callum blushed because he didn't know the dance either. For the most part, he was an enjoyable partner. He stepped on her toes a few times, but his dimpled, crooked smile had a way of making her forgive him.

She was so caught up in the rush Hermione forgot the stares and her purpose for the night: the glare of Ron in one corner, nursing a drink she was sure he'd already spiked with alcohol, and Draco in another, eyes stabbing her like icicles.

Until Callum froze, hands digging into her shoulder, as if flash frozen. Hermione's heart sped up as she turned to find Draco with one hand extended towards her. His face lacked expression. Even through the link she felt nothing, as if he locked everything down with occlumency.

"You promised me a dance." Draco's fingers gave a little wave. "I doubt Mason would know what to do with this song anyway."

Callum didn't let go, until she shrugged out of his hold.

"It's alright," she said. "I promised McGonagall I'd dance with the ferret. Might as well get it over with."

Draco rolled his eyes.

Hermione saw Callum clench his fists by his side, his dimpled smile vanishing.

"Fine, but if this arse bothers you—"

"I can handle Draco Malfoy."

"Can you?" Draco asked. Hermione gave a saccharine smile and grabbed his still outstretched hand.

"I think the real question is if you can handle me."

"Challenge accepted." Draco turned to Callum. "I believe this is your cue to leave."

Hermione hated the look Callum gave: hurt and vulnerable. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then he closed it and left the dance floor, leaving Draco and Hermione staring at each other.

"Remember, the cameras are watching," he said.

"You're acting as if I'd play some prank on you."

Draco gave her a warning glance.

"No games. Not with the ministry here."

She considered.

"I thought you said you could handle me."

He gave an exasperated sound under his breath.

They put their hands into position. Unlike Callum, Draco's left hand touched her hip like a proper pureblood, though the very edge of his fingers brushed the skin of her back. The barest, feathered touch.

"I don't know the steps," Hermione admitted.

"Luckily, you're in capable hands. I've been forced to dance these ridiculous songs since I could walk."

He began to move, much smoother than Callum, whisking her around, twisting her this way and that, so rapid it was hard to catch her breath. Like most upper crust purebloods, he was a superb dancer, a requirement for their position in society.

"Why Astoria?" Hermione asked, when the tempo slowed, and they once again landed face to face.

"She owed me a favor, and Weasley was an unnecessary distraction. It's not so complicated." He grabbed her waist and flung her out, keeping their hands tangled above their heads. She twisted a complete turn before he caught her. She avoided looking at him through it all. "You need to smile, Granger. They're about to take pictures."

A few reporters weaved through the crowd with cameras. Snap. Snap. Snap. White spots floated in her vision from the brilliant light.

"Good." She pointed her hand towards the ground and twisted her hand, turning the bottom of his shoes into ice.

Draco cursed and slipped just as the cameras went off again, just in time to catch him stumbling and righting himself.

"Undo it," he said.

She smirked once, but conceded, reaching her wrist down and twisting again, and the ice vanished, but her point didn't.

"I thought you agreed to not play games?" He flung her out, but this time it was much faster and harder, his anger coming out in the energy of motion. She almost didn't keep up with the movement. When they returned to the normal position, their noses almost touched. She glanced into his eyes, and then wished she hadn't.

"This isn't a game," she said. "Not anymore."

He pressed them tighter together. The song was winding down, turning slower. The world around her vanished. The crowds. The people. The expectations. The cameras. Nothing else mattered as she stared into his frozen eyes, cold and hard… and hopeful.

It was all just a little fun.

Until it wasn't.

Until it became a live wire that could injure them both if they messed with it too much.

"I'm not going to convince you to forgive me," he said. "But I will admit that when Astoria was involved, it was still a game to me as well. Something I had to win."

"What is it now?"

She needed to hear him say it, so she knew she wasn't the only one going insane.

"Something dangerous." His fingers dug into the skin of her back. "Something I've realized I can't win. Not in the way I thought I could."

He let go of her with the end of the song, just as the cameras clicked again. She wondered how the camera lens would interpret the way they stared into each other's eyes, searching and lost. Both drowning at the same time.

Hermione's heart sped up as Draco backed away and gave a deep bow at the waist, the typical action of a proper pureblood gentleman at the end of the dance. Then he straightened.

"There's no more time. And like you said, the game is over." His face shuttered again. Cold and hard. "Good night, Granger. I admit I'm surprised you won our little pull and tug."

And almost turned before she could respond, but then twisted back around with a smirk that almost looked… sad.

"Oh, and the memories are yours either way. I'll give you them tomorrow."

"Why would you do that?"

He shrugged.

"Maybe my father deserves to have a challenge. And just maybe he'll be bested by the only witch worthy of the honor."

He walked off the dance floor and out of the great hall, leaving Hermione alone in shock. She stood there until Callum came back with a butterbeer for her.

"Thanks… but I might have to call it a night. I don't feel so well."

Callum's eyes narrowed, but it was the truth. Her world tilted off balance. She came tonight prepared to fight a war. Never in her life, did she ever think she'd see the pureblood princeling, ruler of this small patch of this world, concede defeat.

And he planned to give the memory without conditions… her stomach dropped and twisted.

"What did that spoiled bastard do?"

"Nothing," she assured him. And that was the problem. "I really just don't feel right."

It took several minutes for Hermione to convince Callum to stay at the dance and let her go back alone. But eventually she was walking along the stone hallways, unsure of what to do next.

She should hold onto her hate and anger, feed it images of Draco and Astoria having secret conversations behind her back.

And yet, she almost wished she lost the bet. Almost wished he'd fought back.

_Well…_ Hermione's stumbled on a sudden thought. _The bet doesn't officially end until the clock strikes midnight._

**Draco **

Draco lay on his bed, the buttons on his formal dress robes loosened. He had a golden snitch in one hand. With a flick of his wrist, he flung it up, letting it flutter for a moment before snatching it out of the air. He did this over and over, trying to distract his mind.

With his other hand, he brought up the bottle of Ogden's finest he smuggled in last year, taking a small swig with each completion of a throw. The remnants of a fire gave a dull glow to the room, embers cracking. The cold of the night seeped through the stones around him, but he refused to place a warning charm tonight. The chill nipped his skin, helping him to forget his misery.

A noise sounded in the corner. A rustle of cloth and quiet curse. Draco sat up, wand at the ready, letting the golden snitch flutter out of his hand and into the corner of the room.

"Who's there?" He asked.

"It's me." Two floating hands and a head appeared out of thin air, as Hermione threw back the hood to Potter's invisibility cloak. He didn't need to ask how she snuck into the Slytherin dorms. Her left hand clutched the map. And in the state he was in, he'd forgotten to put up wards.

He sat up, feeling suddenly furious. He said she won, didn't he? Going against every instinct in his body. It had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. Something he regretted instantly but couldn't take back once he exited the Great Hall, enchanted Snow melting from his hair.

He wanted to forget her, but here she was, ready to torment him some more.

"Why are you here?" He flung both legs off the side of the bed, toes pressed into the cold stone below. "If it's to get the memories, I'll give them tomorrow. You may think I'm a liar, but I've never backed from my word once it's given."

"Don't be an idiot, Draco," Hermione snapped in her most condescending voice. "I'm here to fuck you."

Everything in Draco froze and restarted several times before the words registered. When they did, the bottle of Ogden's slipped out of his hands, smashing its expensive contents all over the floor, soaking into the one-of-a-kind rug woven with Puffskein fur.

"Don't tease me," Draco warned.

She gave a cruel little smile. Something he'd never seen her give to anyone else. It was cultivated just for him.

"Tease you like this?" The invisibility cloak slipped off her like a shower of water, pooling on the floor around her bare feet, revealing she wore nothing but her naked flesh underneath.

If he was still holding the bottle of Ogden's, he'd have dropped it twice. His whole body shuddered; lungs painful because it suddenly became hard to breath.

"Honestly, Draco. It's fucking cold in here. I'm not sure how you stand it." Hermione snapped her fingers, and the fire roared to life behind her, illuminating her skin in a golden haze, showing every dip and curve. The rosy peeks of her breasts. The starburst scar on her stomach, joined by a smaller incision made by Rosewood's knife. His gaze went down to the apex of her thighs, a sight he'd dreamed of plenty. His imagination never came close to the real thing, a pathetic mimicry of life.

"If you don't mean it, leave now," Draco warned. "Because if you walk closer, you're making a choice."

Hermione bit her lip, as if suddenly self-conscious, but she took a step forward, passed the silky cloth of the invisibility cloak.

"I'm serious," he tried to warn. "If you enter my bed, your agreeing to be mine. And once you're mine, I'm not sure I'll ever let you go."

Hermione seemed to think on what he said, but she took another step. And then another. With each step, she made a steady beat of promise. Until she stood before him. Like a siren. Like a Veela. She looked like the most dangerous creature in the world with her hair billowing around her head, lips still red as blood.

His legs spread, and Hermione stepped between them. The back of his fingers brushed down the side of her hip, running the length of the curve, memorizing the way it dipped and tilted like a small hill, skin softer than the most expensive fabrics.

In answer, her finger stroked along the edges of his lips. A heated trail ignited in its wake.

"I want to see you," she said.

His shirt made a static crackle as it brushed passed his hair. His pants came slower, as Hermione helped him with the snaps, tugging and sliding, until he was a naked as she was.

He brought his fingers around her waist, intending to bring her down and under him. But her hands on her shoulders stopped him.

"No, tonight, it's my rules." She pushed his shoulders, and he didn't resist, leaning back into the mattress, just as she crawled up and straddled his waist.

There was nothing between them anymore, neither clothes, space, nor excuses.

She kept his gaze as she raised herself and then slowly lowered on his cock. It was the sweetest torture he ever felt. She gave a small whimper when they joined completely. The feeling was so wonderful, so wet and warm and tight, that he almost came right them. It took everything in him to steady himself. He grit his teeth as his hands found her bottom, digging fingers into her skin, just as she tilted forward, rolling her hips.

Whatever this was, it wasn't sweet. It wasn't love. It was rough and raw and ancient. He understood now why the paleolithic wizard tribes worshipped women, carrying talismans of their bodies. For right now she looked every bit the goddess, powerful and wild, as she rocked. His lower body became tight and heavy, little groans escaping his mouth. The tension sparked with each frantic thrust.

Draco reached up and cupped her breast, letting his thumb roll over the nipple, and Hermione threw her head back with pleasure, letting an answering moan exit her mouth, baring her smooth throat. Pure, unfiltered magic trailed out of her fingers, wrapping around him as she fucked him.

It hurt to not turn her under him, grind into her until he'd claimed every inch of her body. He nearly begged her to finish the torture, hanging on by a thread.

"I can't last any longer."

"I'm almost there."

Hermione's speed turned frantic, uncaring what he thought or felt. This was a punishment now. She fucked him until her whole body spasmed with a low scream, head thrown back. Magic sparking in the air.

Draco grabbed her hips hard, holding her firmly in place as he jumped over the edge, emptying himself inside her wet heat.

As the pleasure burst through him, the golden thread of magic connecting them erupted in a golden haze, so strong it blew out the fire and made the windows rattle.

Hermione collapsed against his chest; skin dewy with sweat. They stayed that way for a few moments. One of his hands went up and tangled into her hair, his palm cradling the back of head, while she caught her breath, cheek pressed over his heart. Their naked bodies rested perfectly together, his cock still inside her until it softened.

He wondered if this is what clouds felt like, pure sunlight streaking through the haze. If he hadn't known she was dangerous before, he surely did now. He was afraid he'd give her whatever she wanted, so long as he could experience this rush again.

"What happened?" She whispered in his ear, as the golden haze dissipated. The magic of the Anima Vinculum spell exhausted them both, but she had more raw magic to draw from, so it drained her more. Her eyelashes fluttered as she found it hard to stay awake.

"The old magic liked it as much as we did," he answered back. He gently rolled her off him, disconnecting him. She didn't protest as she snuggled against his sheets. A sight he'd daydreamed about more than once.

"Was it everything you wanted?" She said with her eyes closed. "All the scheming, all the planning. Was it worth it?"

He traced the edges of her lips and then leaned forward and for the first time tonight he kissed her, as soft as he could manage, giving her his answer. She gave a snort of laughter in reply, not even opening her eyes, before turning her face into the pillow and falling asleep.

He watched her, contemplating the future, memorizing every scar and freckle, every flaw and curve, until she softly snored. And then he pulled her naked body close to his, enjoying the pleasant heat of flesh. It seared his skin.

"You can't say I didn't warn you," he said.

The magic in the room zinged in agreement.


	21. Just a Little Fun

**Song Suggestion:** Bryce Vine- "Drew Barrymore"

**Just a Little Fun**

**Hermione**

A disoriented Hermione bolted upright, dragging a sheet softer than silk to her chest. Green instead of crimson. Silver instead of gold. Darker and colder than the Gryffindor tower with a faint neon green glow.

Draco's room.

The events of the night replayed in her mind. Stripped of her bravado and the adrenaline flooding her system, she was only a naked girl sharing a bed with a boy who had a terrible reputation.

Somewhere Harry must be turning over in his grave. Her cheeks wanted to burn with shame. She never thought of herself as a girl tiptoeing out of a room after a one-night stand, but Hermione's eyes found the crumpled invisibility cloak with the map beside it. Her escape, if she desired.

Spending a night with Draco was a wonderful story to tell, but she couldn't see anything good coming out of staying any longer than necessary.

She shifted, about to crawl out of bed, when Draco's voice sliced the silence.

"Good morning," he said. "Or good night still. It hard to tell in the dungeons."

She twisted her head, letting her curls fall over her bare shoulder.

Draco looked like a Greek god. He sprawled naked across the sheets not even caring to cover up as her eyes roved over him. Like Adonis touched to life with his pale, toned skin. His chest must have been beautiful before Sectumsempra ravaged it. Instead, a giant gash ran like a winding river across his torso. Dark magic wounds always left reminders.

She reached out, on instinct, and traced the deepest part of the gash. The muscles on his stomach clenched with the touch.

"I never got to thank Potter properly for these," he said, but there was no malice behind his words.

"He regretted it."

He nodded, as if accepting her answer. His skin contrasted against the black sheets below. She had a sudden desire to lean down and taste him. She never got to last night. The act was quick and almost violent. No need for foreplay or taking her time. But now she wished to lean over and lick his skin, watch him shiver beneath her tongue.

Hermione shook her head, hating how fast she fell into the web again. It was stickier than an Acromantula's. There was no escaping the trap he laid for her.

"I think it's time I go—"

"What's the rush? Getting back to your _boyfriend_? You did tell him, right, that you were coming to fuck me?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Callum and I are just friends."

"Of course." He gave a wicked smirk. "You prefer blonds."

"I do?" Hermione tapped one finger on the side of her chin. "I guess you're right, Luna Lovegood did look delectable."

Draco blinked a few times before giving a loud laugh. He clutched his stomach with both hands.

"You're—"

Blaise Zabini barreled through the door, interrupting whatever Draco was about to say. Hermione gave a little squeak of surprise, and Draco grabbed both her shoulders and pulled under behind him.

"Get out, Zabini," Draco growled.

The Italian wizard was dressed in a leather robe that almost sparkled. His dark eyes roved over the scene before him, once, twice, as if not registering what he viewed.

"Oh my fucking God…"

Before Draco could say anything, Blaise's wand sliced into the air. Out of the tip blasted a stream of confetti, bursting across the room like a rain shower.

"Zabini…" Draco warned, but Blaise blasted another round of confetti. It danced in the air as it fell, coating everything.

When the air cleared, it revealed a beaming Blaise. A sly, Cheshire grin split his mouth in two.

"Stop trying to hide Granger." He twirled his wand in an idle way. "There's no one else with that hair."

Hermione peeked over Draco's shoulder.

"Hello, Zabini."

"Are you done?" Draco blew out a breath, attempting to get the yellow speck of confetti that stuck to the tip of his nose.

"Not even close," Blaise said. "It's not every day—"

Draco tensed

"Don't you fucking dare—"

"—that a man's best friend gets deflowered. By Hermione Granger, no less. It must have been spectacular with all that tension built up."

The room went silent.

"Deflowered?" The words entered her brain, but she didn't comprehend them.

"Well, you two seem busy," Blaise said cheerfully, but not at all innocently. "I'll leave you two to your fun." He walked out before Draco could reach his wand, throwing careless handfuls of confetti behind him.

"I'm going to kill him." Draco sent a spell to both shut and lock the door. "I swear I placed wards on the doors before—"

"You're a virgin."

Draco's whole body tensed up. He faced the door, refusing to look at her.

"Was a virgin," he said.

"Right," Hermione nodded, still not understanding. "But… you're the Slytherin sex god. I heard rumors..."

He finally turned so she could see him. His cheeks had turned a bright pink, pale skin revealing the blood whooshing just beneath the surface. Hermione wasn't sure if she had ever seen Draco so embarrassed, or so vulnerable.

"When have rumors ever been true?" He glanced at her chest. The sheet had fallen, so her breast was exposed to the sharp biting cold of the dungeons. She didn't move to cover it.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Hermione teased. "I guess I should have gone slower for your first time. Worked you up. Been more careful."

Draco gave a growl at the back of his throat. He flipped her waist and tugged her under him, so that she was pinned against the soft mattress, the delicious heat of his skin sliding against her own.

"I said I was a virgin, Granger, not a celibate. The rumors are partly true. I've spent enough time in broom closets to know exactly how to make a girl forget her morals. Let me give you a refresher course, since it seems you've forgotten."

He grabbed both her wrists and flung them over her head, and his wand flew to his outstretched hand. He muttered a curse, and her wrists stuck to the pillow. It happened so fast, she didn't know what to think. She wiggled her arms in vain.

"Let me go."

"You don't really want me to."

She didn't. With the lack of refusal, he gave a half-smirk, mercury eyes flashing in the glowing green of the dungeon.

"Yesterday, you took what you wanted." He glanced down her body. At her breasts arching towards him and lower to the places that throbbed with desire. "Now, it's my turn."

He leaned down until his lips touched the top of her clavicle bone, letting his tongue and lips make a trail down the center of her body until he looked at her, face positioned between her thighs. What he was doing, his tongue touching every inch of skin, except where she wanted him too, could be classified as torture.

"When you woke up this morning, I could tell you wanted to leave," he whispered into her skin. "But I plan to keep right here for as long as possible." His tongue brushed against her, and she thought she'd self-combust.

After that, he made her world explode. Her back arched, wrists stuck to her pillow. By then end, she screamed like he wanted. And when she thought she had more than she could take, he crawled up her body, gave her a slow kiss, and entered her. He gave a loud groan when fully inside.

"If you're wondering," he whispered in her ear, "This is exactly where I plan to stay."

**Hermione **

When Hermione woke the second time, she was tangled with Draco. His leg was tucked over her lower body, and their other limps were over and under each other.

She slowly edged away. He made a little noise, and she paused, but when his breathing resumed, she continued her escape until the knot of their limbs became untangled.

She took a moment to look at Draco asleep. He resembled his mother in this state. His mouth softened; the hard grip of his jaw loosened. She wondered if he'd have looked like this awake—so carefree—if Voldemort had never spread his stain.

Or if his father had never taught him to be his clone.

Alas, Draco was Draco: calculating, manipulative, intense, with a surprising tender side. He set fire to her blood, and despite his lack of experience, he managed to satisfy her.

But she couldn't trust him. Which is why she had to do what she had to do.

As Draco slept, she searched the room, starting from the top and ending at the bottom. It wasn't very big, but there were infinite places he could hide it.

_I'm not stupid enough to keep it on my person. _He had told her what seemed a lifetime ago.

It could be anywhere, but she doubted he'd risk it too far from his control, especially since she knew all the good hiding spots of Hogwarts already, and the room of requirement was still aflame.

The desk contained nothing remarkable, but under the bed was a simple chest, smaller than a normal trunk for school clothes. Even as she kept searching, her eyes kept being drawn back to it, until she gave into her curiosity.

Hermione brought out her wand, tapping it against her hand as she contemplated how to get into the damnable thing. It was warded… strongly. The bands of magic gave warning zaps from here. And if she attempted a ward-breaking spell, it might alert him.

She chewed at her bottom lip until she glanced up at his hand, dangling from the bed. He had elegant long fingers, nails cut so cleanly she knew an elf did it, with tiny scars covering his knuckles. It was surprisingly strong, callused from years of quidditch practice. And it would help her open the chest.

Hermione picked up the chest and gently touched the pads of his fingers to the lock. It clicked open, and Draco groaned with the noise. Hermione quickly shoved the chest under the bed. It disappeared from view, the lid still ajar, just as Draco cracked open an icy eye.

He stared at her and blinked.

"Why are you on the floor?" His voice came out crackly with sleep.

"I um… well…" she stuttered. "I just wanted to do this." She leaned forward and kissed him.

He groaned, pressing them together. Her breasts pushed into his chest as he snaked his hands around her waist and held her tight.

"You're lying to me, but I almost don't care because you're looking like a dream. So here's the choices: you can either tell me the truth, or you can keep distracting me. In truth, I'd rather the latter."

He paused, waiting.

Hermione sighed.

"I was just looking for my cloak."

It was partly true, which was the best type of lie. When she was searching, she noticed it was gone, as well as the map.

He grinned.

"You'll get it back when I'm ready for you to exit this room. Preferably right before the train leaves back for home. So good ahead and lie to me again, so I have an excuse to kiss you again."

"You're uglier than a troll," Hermione leaned back and traced patterns on his chest, following the path of scars.

"The troll take pride in the title of ugliest creature on Earth. They'd be mad to know you gave the title to someone so undeserving of it."

She snorted out some laughter. Draco's hands went to the back of her thighs and tugged them apart, so she straddled him.

Hermione raised her eyebrow.

"Again?"

He only smirked until he gave a quick barrel roll. She gave out a squeak as she landed under him. The apex of their thighs fit so perfectly, as if made for each other.

"It's time I punished you for that smart little mouth." He entered her in a single stoke, groaning. He was already getting better at this. She dug her hands into the sheets beside her and then down his back as he ravaged her, flipping her over during the middle, taking her from behind like an animal until she shuddered and he finished inside her.

Later, he rolled off the bed and stalked out the room with a towel slung low on his hips, showing off the V of muscles on his lower abdomen on his way to a shower. She lay back on his bed with cum still dripping down her legs. As if that reminded her, she trailed the wand across her belly. It glowed bright with a contraceptive charm. There was no way she wanted to have the next Malfoy heir.

After, she stretched and stood up, gathering the invisibility cloak that Draco had draped on the back of the chair on his way to the shower. The map he had set on his desk still in pristine unrumpled condition, even after all these years.

And then she leaned down, tugged the chest out from under the bed, and opened it.

Inside was a picture of Draco as a little boy next to his parents. Lucius looked at him with genuine delight and Narcissa beamed. They were a beautiful family, like models in a magazine. Draco looked adorable in his miniature dress robes. He grasped a toy broom and gave a wiggle of jump over and over.

She wondered why he kept such a photo locked away, but she had no time. She shoved it aside, finding several odd potion jars and another smaller bottle of Ogdens. Hermione stopped when she found several newspaper clippings of her and Harry. Harry and Ron's face were blotted out, leaving only her grinning and waving to the camera. She placed the clippings back in the box not sure how she felt about the finding.

The newspapers were from two years before they made a bet or a connection. Had he always had some perverse fascination for her? Not willing to think too hard on it, she rifled to the bottom, ignoring the other contents, until she found what she was looking for.

She took the vial out, staring at the shining silver floating in the glass.

She stashed the memory in the pockets lining the cloak and extracted an identical one.

If all went the right way, it wouldn't matter that she did this. The memories would be back in her possession with him being none the wiser.

"Please, prove me wrong." Hermione buried the counterfeit memory in the chest, shutting it and showing it back under the bed.

After, she sighed and stood up, staring at the chest and then at the bed where she spent nearly a whole day tangled with Draco in its soft as silk sheets.

"It was just a little fun," she tried to tell herself as she exited the Slytherin dorm, wrapped up in the invisibility cloak.

The lie tasted like ash on her tongue.


	22. Christmas Presents

**Song Suggestion:** Two Feet- "I feel Like I'm Drowning"

**On updating:** please don't PM me and threaten to not read unless I update faster. It won't work. Promise. I write in my **minimal** spare time. This is pure **love**, and I think two weeks is a fast turnaround, considering each chapter is 3-5,000 words. My only payment is reviews. And I have to say I have the **BEST** reviewers in the fandom! You guys rock. Seriously, some of y'all write paragraphs. And I read them over and over for inspiration. Just please understand I can only write/edit at a certain pace. XOXO

**Christmas Presents**

**Hermione **

Hermione sat with Ginny and Neville on the train back to King's Cross Station. She dreaded the destination, because there would be no one there to greet her.

When Neville began to snore softly, face planted into the fogged glass next to his head, Ginny leaned over and laid her head on Hermione's shoulder.

"I hate telling you this." Ginny heaved a sigh, and Hermione's stomach clenched bracing for the bad news. "But my mum said you can't come to the burrow for Christmas like we planned. _Supposedly_, it would put Ickle Ronniekins in distress. I tried to change her mind, but you know how she gets."

Hermione expected this. Mrs. Weasley always slightly disliked her. Even when they were all friends. In fourth year, when Skeeter put out the article about Harry and her, the Weasley matriarch turned frosty without even proof it was true. And now with Harry dead and Ron hating her…

Hermione didn't want to put herself in that awkward position anyway.

She just dreaded the upcoming loneliness.

"It's fine, Gin, really. Don't stress about it."

Ginny hands balled into fists.

"It's just makes me so—"

"It's fine. I promise. I think I need some time alone with my parents."

Ginny swallowed, but she nodded and looked away.

"We'll still come up and visit… me and Charlie. George too, if he's feeling up to it."

There was so much loss this Christmas. Almost too much. Harry. Fred. Lupin. Tonks. The wounds festered, still unhealed. Maybe they'd never heal. At least, not into what it was before. The world changed around her, and she wasn't sure where she fit into it anymore.

**Hermione **

Hermione got up to go find the trolley. She desperately wanted a chocolate frog before being stuck in the muggle world.

On the way down the swaying hallway, a hand shot out and dragged her into a bathroom stall.

She almost screamed but a hand covered her lips before it could escape.

"Shh," Malfoy soothed in the darkness while the hard lines of his body pressed against hers.

His hand released her mouth but lingered on her neck.

"I could kill you for scaring me like that." Hermione reached over and flicked on the light. Draco squinted his eyes with the brightness. "How long have you been waiting here?"

"Longer than I'd like, but it was the only way to get ahold of you." He reached into his pocket and withdrew the memory vial. It sparkled in the light, swirling against the glass. "I made a promise, and I intend to keep it."

It looked exactly like the replica she'd left in the chest. Something burst in her, heart galloping. She always knew Draco could make the right choice, in the end.

And this time it was for _her_.

It almost made her feel guilty for taking the original memory.

She grasped the vial, their fingers brushing over each other. Just the simple touch of flesh against flesh almost made her melt into him. She put the glass vial into her purse, right next to the real memory she had extracted earlier.

"How do I know this is real?" Afterall, she tricked him. She wouldn't put it passed him to do the same to her, no matter if her heart began to hold secret hopes.

"Because I'm compelled by the bet." He rolled his eyes. "I'd be permanently bald if I dared mess with the terms. You did win it, by the way. So even if I wanted to be a cad, I couldn't be."

Hermione reviewed the bet in her mind, going over the details, trying to see if see if there were any loopholes. She didn't discover anything, but the review did remind her of one fact.

"What about my one hundred galleons?" Hermione held out her hand. She was only half-joking. "You need to pay up."

"Are you sure you don't want an exchange instead?"

He pushed her against the wall, pulling her legs up and around his hips in one smooth movement.

"We're on the train. _In the bathroom._ I hardly think this is the appropriate place to—_"_ She gave a small gasp when his hand began popping the snaps on her shirt, opening them one at a time, while his lips grazed her collarbone, dipping lower. Her hands went around to the back of his head, threading her fingers through his silky stands.

"Don't tell me the perfect Gryffindor is finally afraid of something?"

"Draco," she said, voice husky. "Someone could hear us."

Draco took a moment to silence the room.

"Not anymore."

"What if I want the galleons instead?"

"You should never play bets with a Slytherin." He nipped at the breast that bulged out her bra. "Didn't someone warn you of that? I said I would give you the galleons, I never said _when_ I would. I need some reason for you to come stalk me in the dungeons again." His hand found the apex of her skirt, nails brushing over the cloth covering her. "Because, after three weeks a part, I intend to place you right back in my bed."

"Maybe next time it can be my bed."

His eyebrows rose in delighted surprise.

"It can be anywhere, anytime you want, love." His fingers pushed aside the flimsy cotton underwear and slid inside her. She gasped, unable to conceal the instant pleasure. "But right now, I need a taste to get me through the winter hols."

The room charged with her magic, rattling the lights as they unbuckled and shoved the remaining clothing out of the way and fucked hard against the wall. It was frantic and hurried. Her hands went to his back, scratching down the expensive cloth of his shirt as if to rip it off. Their lips found each other during the middle. She had never felt so close to somebody. So complete with him inside her. They didn't finish the kiss until they both shattered, groaning into each other's mouths. It left them sweaty and panting, foreheads pressed together.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione," he said in the hazy aftermath, before straightening his appearance and leaving the compartment with Hermione panting against the wall.

_What have I gotten myself into_? She thought it would be a one-time thing, a release of tension. But now she worried she miscalculated because having sex with Draco only dragged her further into the murky lake. If she didn't get out soon, she was afraid she'd sink straight to the bottom.

**Hermione **

Ginny, George, and Charlie visited two days before. There was laughter in her old childhood home, briefly brightening a space now filled with cobwebs, the ghosts of her parents walking around the shadows. When they departed, it left her nothing to focus on but her grief.

Today was Christmas. She wished to be anywhere else, but like a dutiful daughter she sat in a squeaky leather chair, watching a machine make soft beeps and wobbly lines of her parents' heartbeats.

They woke up occasionally, according to their head nurse at St. Mungos, which was why the room was outfitted to look like a muggle hospital. Fake lines and beeping machines decorated the space. The first time they woke up, they nearly hurt themselves in distress. This was the best way to accommodate them, everyone agreed. At least until they healed.

If they ever healed, that is.

She hated being here. Hated staring at them. The steady rise and fall of their chest. The constant fake beeping. Her parents lived, but they might as well be dead.

The week after the war ended, she went searching for her parents in Australia. To her ultimate horror, they had been institutionalized. Gone mad, the muggles believed. Ranting and raving on the streets.

_Where did I go wrong? _The brightest witch of her age, and she still couldn't manage a correct Obliviate. The healer explained she went too far. Tricking a brain into forgetting little things was easy. But a daughter? Someone their lives pivoted around for most their lives? It was like ripping their souls in two, shredding their minds into something resembling ground beef.

Hermione almost didn't survive the weeks after finding her parents, unable to eat or drink for days. She erased their memories to save her lives. But now, as she watched them wither away, she wondered if it had been worth it.

The wizarding world functioned much like its muggle counterpart. Healthcare was essentially free for all. But there was only one wizard in the world with the skill to potentially heal her parents—a man named Bingley—and he required a king's ransom, the type of money only purebloods could afford. Not to mention, he was a well-known bigot who refused to work on muggleborns, let alone muggles.

Hermione squeezed her mother's hand, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. The guilt stole the breath from her lungs, eviscerating her soul until she couldn't stand it anymore.

She fled the room, nearly tripping over a nurse on the way out.

**Hermione **

Hermione walked into the cemetery. It didn't take long to find Harry's grave. The ministry spared no expense burying him next to his parents. Today was the first time she saw the headstone and she found it disgustingly gaudy. Nothing about it showed Harry's personality.

Hermione sat cross-legged on the grass and traced the path of letters etched into the stone.

"Merry Christmas, Harry." She kissed the top of the headstone, wishing it was his forehead. "What am I going to do without you? I feel like the world has gone mad. You'd make sense of it. I just know you would." Her breath hitched upward. "Why did your bloody luck have to run out?"

She curled up in the grass, letting herself cry for the first time all break, feeling utterly alone.

So wrapped in her grief, she didn't hear the person approach, until a branch snapped near her head.

She bounced on her feet, wand in hand.

The Death Eater stood a few feet from Harry's grave, green eyes peeking out from behind his silver mask. He had both his hands up, showing he held no wand and posed no threat.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for you, but I suppose I should pay my respects." He stared at the head stone, at the flowers decorating it, enchanted so they'd never die. "The ministry only understood the threat the dark lord posed on an abstract level. They never had to see the torture. The blood. The—" He sucked in a breath as if the memory caused acute pain. "Always thought I hated the bloke, like I'd been told to."

There was a time she dreamed of the Death Eater somehow being Harry. But she knew better. Harry's eyes were a lighter shade of green, like spring grass. His were deeper. Dark moss in a forest. Lichen growing on a tree.

"What changed?"

"I realized Potter was the only one that could pull me out of that house of horrors."

"How did you find me?" Hermione asked.

"You're not as cautious with your movements as you should be. Rosewood is still out there, along with a few loose death eaters."

He almost sounded concerned, worried, which was ridiculous given the costume he wore. Shouldn't he hate everything about her?

"Why would you care?"

He shrugged. "The reasons are a little complex, which reminds me of why I came."

His hand entered the side of his robe and exited with a tiny black box in the palm of his hand. On the top was a sloppily wrapped bow, as if he had attempted it himself.

Hermione took a step back, unsure of his motives, but the Death Eater raised his free hand as if she was a wild animal about to bolt.

"I was just wanting to give you something. Nothing else, I swear." He leaned down and placed the black box on the cemetery grass and then backed away.

"That's not some object that will melt my skin or entrap my soul, is it?"

She could have sworn he just rolled his eyes.

"What would be the fucking point of that? If I wanted to kill you, I'm sure I'd choose a less conspicuous way. Test it, if you want."

Hermione sent a spell that could detect dark magic. The air above the black box glowed blue, showing it to be safe.

"So… it's a Christmas present?" The words felt funny coming out of her mouth. "Why would you give me a present."

"It was something given to me long ago, and now I'm giving it to you. I hope you'll wear it, though I understand if you don't."

"Will I ever figure out who you are?"

He looked away towards the exit of the cemetery.

"You don't want to know. Trust me. It's better if you never do. I just… I just wanted to give this to you, that's all. Maybe one day you'll understand."

Hermione watched as the Death Eater turned and walked to the gates of the cemetery and then disappeared. Only then did she walk over to the black box and pick it up. She tugged on the bow until it unraveled and twirled back to the earth.

Despite the spell finding no dark magic, she lifted her wand in preparation.

She flipped open the lid to find a simple necklace—an infinity loop hung on a silver chain. The brassy sheen told Hermione both that it was fake metal and of muggle origin. It looked like some cheap trinket she'd win out of a gumball machine.

Hermione stared at the necklace for several long minutes trying to work out in her mind why the Death Eater would give her a muggle necklace. It only deepened the mystery around the figure.

After determining it contained no spells or charms, she unclasped it and hung it around her neck. For some odd reason, it brought her comfort.

**Draco **

Draco walked into his father's cell. It was made to look like his study back home, except with a plush bed in the corner. The enchanted walls hosted glowing torches and wooden mahogany paneling, the portraits of his ancestors glared back at him, assessing him with cold grey eyes. Real books lined the shelves, most of them dealing with wizarding law and customs.

"Your creature comforts are impressive."

Lucius Malfoy looked up from his chair, letting his reading glasses perch on the bottom of his nose. His cane leaned against the other side of the leather chair. He didn't get up to greet his son; instead, he sneered contemptuously as if annoyed by the interruption of his reading.

"They even let you keep your wand." Draco nodded at the cane.

"Indeed," his father drawled. "Though it's blunted to simple spells. It would be atrocious to chain me here on outlandish charges without letting me keep some fraction of my magic."

He closed the book and set it on a side table and then took off the reading glasses, folded them and set them aside. Lucius placed the heel of his shoe on his knee.

"Sit, Draco." He snapped his fingers, and an elf popped into view burdened under a gigantic tray filled with biscuits and goblin made china. "We have much to discuss."

"No merry Christmas? We do still celebrate that, right?"

Lucius gave an all-suffering sigh.

"Don't be facetious, Draco. You aren't five years, and I don't need to coddle you. Or do you still want a toy broom?"

Draco grit his teeth. There was no dealing with his father in this mood. He sank into the plush leather chair across from his father and accepted the cup of tea from the elf and a biscuit.

His father watched him with narrowed eyes as he took a small sip, looking over the china and meeting his glare. He knew this dance well enough. His father was an archer aiming his bow waiting for the correct moment to loosen his grip.

"I'm going to need you to retrieve the memory," he said finally.

"There's no way around Granger's wards." Draco bit into the biscuit, refusing to let a single crumble dirty his robes.

Lucius set his teacup down and gripped the silver snake head on the end of his cane.

"Then entice her."

Draco quirked a grin on accident, saying more truth in a few movements in his lips than any sentence.

"Working on it, but she's dreadfully prude and self-righteous."

Lucius gave a shrewd look. He leaned the slightest bit forward, so that his long blond hair brushed over his shoulder.

"Not in that way, Draco… though I do not care how you retrieve it." He reached into the side of his robes and extracted a small roll of parchment from the pocket "Maybe I can help."

The paper unfurled, revealing several pages of documents, and sitting on top was a photograph… a muggle photograph, the people looking frozen in time.

Draco leaned forward and grabbed the papers and photo and held it up to the light. He'd recognize that bushy hair from anywhere. A young Granger stood by a tall, slightly balding man and diminutive mousy woman. Hermione resembled neither of her parents very much, though they all three had the same large smile.

"And just what exactly are you insinuating with this?" He placed the parchment and photo in the pocket of his robe. And then he did something he'd never done for. He leaned forward, matching his father's stance. "I'm _not _threatening her parents. That part of my life is over. They may be muggles, but they don't deserve the torment."

Lucius picked the teacup up and drank a small sip and then set it down.

"Whatever you may think of me, I'm not a brute. I've never desired to kill muggles. There are less _messy_ ways to deal with their kind." He motioned at where Draco had the parchment hidden away. "I taught you long ago the easiest way to control people is by giving them things they can't refuse. They'll willingly walk the direction you desire with the right incentive. Fear is an easy shackle to dismantle. The Dark Lord would have done well to understand this."

"So what exactly is it that Hermione Granger would want so badly she'd shed her ideals?" He gave a small laugh at the back of his throat. "Because I'm not sure you've ever met someone you couldn't control, but Granger just might be it."

Lucius reached into his robe and withdrew a second photo and threw it at Draco. It fluttered into his lap, aided by magic. He picked it up, placing it in the light. This photo was magical, but the people in the photo still didn't move. Granger's parents were side by side in medical beds. Muggle equipment surrounded them, but he doubted it did anything because in the corner stood a healer with a familiar logo on her white robes.

"Her parents are in St. Mungos?"

His father nodded. "For the last six months."

Draco's heart sank at the sight. All this time, and Granger never said a thing. He wondered at how she stood under the weight of grief.

"Why?"

"The little mudblood attempted to alter their memories herself to keep them safe from the Dark Lord. Shrewd of her to do, but ruthless. Erasing their memories in that fashion by an inexperienced hand shredded their minds."

Draco flinched at both the slur towards Hermione and the realization of what Granger did. He wondered how she had the courage to stick the wands to their head, fully understanding they'd never recognize her again in their lifetimes. Granger didn't expect it to be reversed, but he doubted she thought it would leave them mad and comatose.

"So they won't ever be normal?" Draco asked. He wondered if his father caught the concern in his voice.

"Not without the right doctor."

"Mr. Bingley," Draco answered, remembering the time he met the renowned healer at one of his mother's many parties. "But he would never work on muggles."

"It just so happens he owes me a favor." Lucius leaned back and let go of his cane, looking completely comfortable in his environment. "I want you to offer her the one thing the idealistic fool would never refuse. Mr. Bingley has already assured me he can heal them."

Draco's whole body froze. His father discovered Granger's weakness a lot faster than he did. It wasn't jewels, or money, or influence, or power. It wasn't a position in the ministry, or legislation to help the fucking house elves. Nothing else would entice Granger to budge her stance.

But this… her parents' memories? He suspected she'd do a great deal to fix their minds. He held a weapon in his pocket. One that could hurt her or heal her. And the most dangerous thing about the situation was his father knew. It was an extra tightrope he now must walk.

"This just might work," Draco said and stood up. He set his tea on the tray and walked to the door. He didn't want to spend another second in his father's presence. But before he could exit, his father clicked his cane against the floor.

"Have your fun, Draco," his father warned. "But always remember your duty is to your family. Consider this my Christmas present to you. You'll find it more useful than the newest broom, I'm sure… Because if you play this right, she'll be clay in your hands to do with as you wish."

Draco didn't even turn around to see his father's face as he exited the cell. It slammed magically behind him. He walked down the hallway as if a centaur chased him, heart beating furiously.

His father, through his network of spies, knew about Granger and him. He didn't know how much he knew, or if he knew how deep and unhealthy it went. All Draco knew for sure was that his father just gave him his blessing to be with Granger… if he could control her.


	23. Another Broken Rule

**Song Suggestion:** Marina and the Diamonds— "How to be a Heartbreaker"** Watch the music video**! You're welcome.

**A/N:** Sorry about being a week late with the update. The flu invaded my house like an angry honey badger.

**Another Broken Rule **

**Hermione**

Hermione sat cross-legged on her childhood bed with the Grimoire in front of her. The fierce golden dragon slithered around the corner, looking amusing set against the floral pattern of her ruffled duvet. As usual, the words twisted into incoherent words when she tried to read past the second sentence.

She read through the first paragraph of the Anima Vinculum spell. Bold letters read **Control thy Adversary** under the title and then stated the basic instructions of the spell, but the information ended there. It had been a whim to use it on Draco. Usually she was not so reckless, but something about the pasty-faced git made her usual good sense go out the window.

_It's everything to some people and nothing to others. _

It needed blood to work. That didn't take a genius to figure out.

For the longest time, Hermione refused to attempt it, despite her curiosity. Blood magic was the strongest type of old magic. Messing around with it wasn't for the faint of heart. If she fed the book her blood, there might be some serious negative consequences, maybe even the fatal type.

But… Hermione touched her strange Christmas present, running her finger over the loops of the infinity necklace, an odd habit she acquired over the past few days. It had been an unnerving interaction. So odd, in fact, she now sat in front of the grimoire willing to risk potential death.

"Here goes nothing," Hermione said.

Hermione placed the small pocketknife to the lines of her palm and pressed down, hissing with the pain as a little line of blood welled up.

She twisted her hand and let the blood splatter on the page. The yellowed paper sucked it dry, disappearing into the ink.

Hermione braced herself. Nothing happened for a whole minute. But then the letters shivered. Sliding this way and that. The words scrambled and rearranged, settling into something readable.

"It worked," Hermione whispered, not able to believe her eyes.

A chill traveled up her spine, until every hair on her body stood up.

This was a pureblood grimoire. The books were coveted by their respective families. A muggleborn should not have been able to crack the translation charm. The slithering dragon should be spitting her blood back into her face, as if it tasted foul.

Unless she carried the family's magic.

But that was impossible. As a second year, she researched her lineage extensively, during a brief stage where she wished to have links to the wizarding world. She found nothing, as she suspected. No ties to anything. Not even someone suspicious enough to be a squib.

As far as she knew, her magic came from a rare spontaneous genetic mutation.

There was only one thing Hermione did know: she wasn't about to let a miracle pass her by. She'd waited half her life to get her fingers on one of these books. Mystery aside, she wasn't going to waste another second.

**Hermione **

The owl pecked at her window. Only once, but it was loud enough to wake her up from a dead sleep, and hard enough it nearly cracked the muggle glass.

She flung open the window, recognizing Charlie's owl. Tawny feathers preened with the inspection.

Hermione handed the owl his treat—per good manners—before uncoiling the parchment.

_To a foolish Witch, _

_I found the information you requested. When I looked at the drawing you gave me, I almost thought you were joking. I've never heard of Golden Dragons except in nursery tales. I thought it was just a little bit of myth and didn't have any luck when I asked my colleagues. In fact, many of them think I'm slightly looney now. _

_But a few days after Christmas, a German rider from a prominent family arrived at the reserve to train with our ironbellies. He overheard the others teasing me (they asked if I needed my nursery rhyme to get to sleep). Later, he pulled me aside and asked what they talked about. _

_I showed him the picture you gave me. He drew his wand and cursed seven times in German. He demanded to know where I got it, since—as he put it—it's an uncanny rendering. I lied for you, saying I found it in a book. _

_If I wasn't twice his size and triple his intelligence, I swear I would've been gutted and served as dinner to his Swedish Short-Snout. He gave me several threats in both German and English, calling me a Kaspar sympathizer. I'm afraid after that encounter I won't be able to ask about it much more. _

_Whatever you're looking into Hermione, I'm begging you to desist. Or if you insist on continuing to investigate, allow me to help. You might be jumping into a deeper puddle than you're prepared for. _

_Stop being stubborn, _

_Charlie _

Hermione placed the letter next to the grimoire. She looked at them side by side trying to find the link. But everything stayed muddled.

The name he said—Kaspar. It sounded familiar. Even she had trouble paying attention in Professor Binns' history lessons, but she remembered he did something horrible and unforgivable a very long time ago.

A Kaspar sympathizer?

It was a mystery that could wait until tomorrow.

**Draco **

For the first time in his life, Draco wished the holidays to end early. With just his mother and old shadows, the walls of the manor closed in. He used to love the manor as a child, but now the horrors lingered. Walking through the rooms was like strolling through a museum of revulsion. Over there was the spot Granger writhed on the carpet, his Aunt digging her knife in her skin. There was the spot Nagini ate a professor. And that was the spot Luna Lovegood sat in chains, eyes wide and grateful as he slipped her pieces of food.

During those long months of Voldemort haunting his halls, Draco learned about true monsters… and that he wasn't one of them.

Even his father couldn't shield him from attending the giant revels, but he did manage to protect his heir from taking part. Draco suspected his father did some grotesque things for that to happen.

Thoughts of Granger became his escape in the empty house. Sex was so much better than he expected (much better than the blowjobs Pansy and other girls gave him), and he understood now why Flint and Montague used to brag about their interludes with muggles. He could think of nowhere else he'd like to be except inside Granger. Her wet heat was the closet he ever believed in paradise.

Wishing to see her, he attempted to enter her dreams, but the distance strained their link, and he could only feel the vague outlines of her. The link worked best in an area saturated with old magic like Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest. The muggle world, where Granger most likely resided, absorbed magic into its cold steel and hard concrete.

In place of her, he revealed the golden strands sitting on his bed at home enough times to see the loops and entwining of the multiple strands. He relieved his own tension, thinking of her pink mouth and soft moans.

The days passed this way, stuck in memories and trauma, shifting through things he thought he could bury, until the day came to leave. He felt terrible abandoning his mother to the lonely house, but when the day came to board the train, he kissed his mother once on the cheek and didn't look back.

**Draco **

Draco stayed near the bathroom on the train, expecting Granger to find him, unmoving until the wheels screeched to a stop.

Maybe she tired of him. Maybe whatever was between them cracked shut like a discarded book.

But he wasn't ready for it to end. The very thought hardened something behind his ribcage.

During the first dinner in the Great Hall, he spied her across the room, leaning towards Ginny with a smile and then elbowing Longbottom in the ribs. They both laughed at some inside joke, and Draco simmered.

_Look at me,_ he spoke through the link.

She jumped in surprise but didn't give a response.

The cold feeling grew as Draco watched as Hermione stood up, looping arms with the she-weasel.

He watched the gentle sway of her hips as she walked out of the great hall, not even glancing at him once.

**Hermione **

Hermione skimmed the page, head bent down, sitting in her favorite spot tucked in the back of the library hidden behind several book stacks with a reliable lamp and a cushy chair. A giant glass window overlooked the forbidden forest beside her, showcasing a bloated moon that watched over her as it inched toward midnight.

The dim lamp next to her cast the only light in the whole library. Madam Pince trusted her enough to stay after hours—the only student in recent history to have been allowed to do so without the librarian's watchful eagle eyes.

Trying again to concentrate, she reread the line about the variety of uses for newt spleen. When she reached the sixth use, a dark presence loomed at her back. She didn't need to look to know who it was. Somehow the corners of her mind memorized his movements.

_You're ignoring me, again_, his voice brushed along her mind with a phantom touch. _And I demand to know why._

She rolled her eyes and shut the book, glad to be done with the dull text.

Honestly, Hermione thought the time away from the Slytherin would clear her head. Instead, Draco intruded her thoughts for weeks. In her dreams—uninfluenced by the spell— his hands slid against the skin of her thighs, teeth grazing her neck, fingers tangled in her hair. The nights were the worst, almost sweating with frustration, until she slid her hand down and finished the job, crying out his name into the emptiness of her childhood home. By the end, it was starting to make her feel pathetic.

Hermione realized there was no use in denying herself what she wanted. If she was going to drown, she might as well make the leap herself.

And she _would _drown. She knew that much. There was no way this could end without injury.

But knowing this did nothing to stop Hermione from twisting in her seat. Draco stood in the shadows in his dark suit almost camouflaging him with the night. But his hair stood out like a beacon, glowing golden with the dull light.

_You owe me something, and until I get it, I can be quite contrary._ She sent her thoughts back. _I've spent three weeks planning the best way to trap a ferret to get my Galleons. I hear they are wily beasts. _

The tight lines of his shoulders loosened, sagging forward as he took a quick, sharp breath. His eyes dipped downward, darkening the usual quicksilver.

Milton must have imagined Draco when creating his version of lucifer. A sharp-tongued liar, arrogant and doomed, but beautiful to behold.

The hair on her arm stood up. She meant to be the predator tonight, attempting to play the games they always did, but the way he caught her in his gaze, she knew she was quickly becoming prey.

_The majestic creatures are only captured if they want to be._ He took a step closer, further into the light. _You didn't look for me on the train._

_I'd prefer to keep our interludes out of bathrooms._ Hermione wrinkled her nose. She placed a hand on the table in front of her, running her finger in circles on the slick surface. _Libraries, however, hold a certain fascination for me._ Hermione stood up and sat on the edge of the table. She let her legs fall open to show him she wore no knickers under her skirt_. In fact_, _a certain fantasy of mine is featured right here. _

She relished his shock: the gentle opening of his mouth, the subtle shudder in his body. Draco wasn't one to overlook an opportunity. He stalked forward with deliberate heavy steps, settling between her legs.

The world blurred when his hands found her thighs, sliding up her skirt to rest around her waist in one rough movement. His grip on her hips firmed, and he twisted her body so she was face forward on the table, bum raised in the air, bare to the biting chill in the air. She attempted to sit up in surprise, but the palm of his hand shoved down the middle of her back. They stayed like this for several minutes, completely still, as he studied her. The only sound was their strangled breathing. His free hand gently stroked the exposed skin in appreciation, sliding his finger down to brush against her clit.

Hermione's cheeks burned and she bit her bottom lip to keep from groaning. In this position, he held the power, and her insides trembled at how vulnerable it made her feel.

_You really are the most surprising witch I've ever encountered_. His hand left her barred bottom and she heard the unzipping of his trousers. _Defiling the Golden Girl on a stack of books is a rather tantalizing fantasy I've had for a long time. I think it's time Hermione Granger adds another broken rule to her lengthy list. _

His fingers bunched the cloth of her shirt on her back as he entered her suddenly and forcefully. She didn't need foreplay, nearly dripping from the month spent without him. The need was so great, the feeling of completeness so wonderful, a loud moan escaped her lips—the first noise of their entire interaction.

Draco leaned down with his length still fully sheathed inside her. His lips touched the edge of her ear, breath warm and sweet on her neck.

"Quiet, Granger," he hissed. "This is a library."

Draco slammed into her, fucking her hard, almost violent. Three weeks of pent up need and anger and desire poured out. Her other lovers were gentle, sweet, soft and nice. Draco was neither of these things. He fucked her from behind like an animal, bucking her hard into the table with each thrust, as if they both devolved into their base ancestral creatures. It was a primal need, uncaring until they met their needs. Nobody told her pain made pleasure sharper, but she understood when she shattered under him, her cry cut off by Draco's hand covering her mouth.

"Look at me," he begged out loud. The way his face rearranged with pleasure was strange to see. He bit his lip, eyes half-lidded as if in a dream, muscles corded in his neck. And then the release.

It was the most erotic thing she'd ever seen.

They stayed in this position while staring at each other, panting to recover, his body heavy against her own.

"After graduation, we can go our separate ways," his voice came out gravelly. "But until then, I want to call you mine."

The silence while he waited for her reply was heavy.

"It needs to be secret."

Draco slipped out of her while casting a glowing contraceptive charm on her. She tried to sit up now that it was over, but he pushed the middle of her back down again.

"A Malfoy always pays his debts," he said. "Meet me in the Astronomy tower tomorrow after midnight."

A leather bag thunked next to her head with a jangle, indicating coins—her hundred galleons. Nothing tied her to him anymore. Nothing but the glowing cords of magic, and the unnatural tug that kept them in each other's paths.

Draco gently kissed the dip in her skin where her shoulder met her neck and then got up and disappeared back into the shadows before she could right herself and turn around. She hefted the golden weight of money in her hands.

_Until Graduation_, she sent her thought into the abyss.

She swore she felt his smile.


	24. The Wild Card

**Song Suggestion: **Ruelle—"Madness"

**The Wild Card**

**Hermione **

**Three Months Later**

"You're fucking him, aren't you?" Ginny asked with her arms crossed, sitting on the edge of her bed.

Hermione groaned and pulled the covers over her head.

"The sun isn't even up yet, Gin."

In answer, Ginny vanished her covers and let the end of her wand glow with the brightness of a thousand suns.

"Why are you being so cruel," Hermione seethed, but allowed herself to adjust to the light. Ginny's lips pinched together in distaste as she clicked the edge of her wand in her hand.

"Because you're evading my question."

"Ugh," Hermione said. "Okay. Yes. Whatever. So what—"

"How long?"

"Three months."

This startled Ginny, giving a slack expression as if wondering how she missed it. Her friend stood up and went to go sit in her reading chair. She sighed and sprawled out.

"Well…" she quirked a smile. "Is he really the _Slytherin Sex god_?"

"Actually, he was a virgin."

Ginny blinked two times before a barking laugh broke its way past her pinched lips. She grabbed her sides and threw back her head, giggling so hard she could barely catch a breath.

"A—A virgin…" Ginny sputtered out. "Th—that's the b—best thing I've heard all year." She wiped away a few tears pooling at the edge of her eyes.

It had been three months of secret trysts. In the library. In his dorm. In her dorm. In abandoned classrooms. In the baths. And one time in the restricted section where they almost got caught by Madam Pince herself.

By this point, there wasn't very many places left they hadn't shagged. Hermione had drawn a hard line at meeting up in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Having that insipid ghost hovering over them wasn't very appealing.

Hermione thought she'd tire of Draco, but the days and months bled together. It worried her that she still sought him out like a muggle junkie looking for a fix. The desire was a need just like eating or drinking. So intense it needed to be satisfied.

By early March, they spent whole weekends together, sometimes sneaking up to the Astronomy tower. She studied the bright dots of constellations, wondering if it could tell her future. She'd never been one to find meaning in tea leaves or give credence to seers, but she wished to see the lie, wished to let it lull her into a false future, if only for a moment.

It didn't help Draco constantly surprised her. He was charming and funny when he tried. She must have known this all along, but she had never experienced it for herself.

Under the cover of stars, Malfoy regaled her with tales of his childhood with Goyle and Nott, as she traced the scars on her stomach. Like the time they accidently turned Goyle senior purple after stashing a random potion in some tea. It took five hundred galleons and a specialist wizard to reverse it.

And, much later, as the stars began to extinguish with the rising sun, Hermione told him of the muggle world. He found their idea of sports dull ("So they just kick a ball around and try to take it from one another?") But he found the description of the internet fascinating. ("So it's like an infinite library?"). And Cellphones intrigued him. ("So it's the floo but without the mess?")

It all seemed like a dream most days, and she was perfectly content for it to stay that way.

But Ginny knowing about them made everything seem more real and fragile... and foolish.

The youngest Weasley slowly stopped laughing.

"I hope you're being careful," she said.

Hermione scoffed. She plucked at a loose thread in her sheet, unable to look up, afraid her best friend would see right through her.

"Of course, I am. I always use the contraceptive charm."

The pause the sentence left filled the air.

"I don't mean in that way."

Of course. She meant in ways that could truly damage.

"We're going to break it off by graduation."

Ginny rolled her eyes but surprisingly didn't say anything.

"I just don't want you to get hurt."

Hermione started to say something but stopped because her worry was warranted.

They spent their days stealing moments: a touch on the small of her back, a brush of their fingers together under the table. They spent their nights and free time tangled together.

But they didn't talk about the future. The idea was a red button on a nuclear warship, a potential catalyst of mass destruction. It lingered in the room with them behind every moan of pleasure, every whisper in darkness.

But she couldn't hide from the inevitable truth forever.

Because graduation hurtled toward them.

**Hermione**

Hermione walked out of the Three Broomsticks with a spring to her step. Early April melted the snow and warmed the air to a gentle breeze, but the ground turned slick and muddy in the areas not paved. Hermione gingerly stepped around the worst spots, on a mission to find Draco.

They planned to meet in the shrieking shack. The whole day she fidgeted in anticipation. By the time she finished her butterbeer, Ginny rolled her eyes and shooed her out. The youngest Weasley may not approve of her choice in men, but she didn't stop her. Hermione was glad someone knew. Sneaking around wasn't something she liked to do, but Hermione knew the world would not treat their relationship nice. And despite knowing they'd never make a true couple, she still didn't want people stepping on it before it ended.

Hermione made a sudden turn, slipping behind the buildings, looking around to see if anyone noticed her exit. Soon, Draco would take the same route, and she didn't want to arouse suspicion.

With no one else around, she enjoyed the gentle sunshine, tilting her head back to soak in the vitamin D. The earth around her erupted in spring flowers, blanketing the ground in colors. The trees sprouted buds but still afforded enough privacy to get to her destination without being seen.

It was beautiful, calm, tranquil.

Until a branch snapped behind her. Just a crackle. But she knew someone followed her.

It wasn't Draco. He wasn't set to meet her for another ten minutes.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up in warning. An instinct as old as predator and prey. Her ears perked up, and her instinct prodded her. _There's danger near_, it told her.

Her wand sprung to her palm, still pointed at the earth. She kept walking, attempting to act as if she wasn't aware.

Her eyes were on the trees around her, scanning the area as she walked forward, measuring each step.

But she still wasn't careful enough. All it took was one step forward. And then one second she was upright; the next she was tackled to the ground by something sticky. It cinched around her body, trapping her wand hand to her side, leaving her as powerless as Mosag's web.

Hermione attempted to stand, but the goo expanded and encapsulated her ankles, sticking her to the ground.

In blind panic, she struggled harder against her substance but stopped when she heard the crunch of leaves, louder and closer until an upside down, grinning Rosewood peered above her head.

The terror was visceral, a muscle memory. Very few people made trauma bubble to the surface in her soul… made her afraid.

For as long as she lived, she'd never forget the way he casually placed a wand to Clara's neck. Would never forget the sharp punch of his knife in her gut. She'd carry the scar he gave to her grave.

Hermione refused to show her fear after the initial surprise, rearranging her facial muscles, throwing up her occlumency walls.

"How did you get passed the wards?"

He rolled his eyes, as if he enjoyed the mystery.

"As you've probably figured out, resisting six-legged salamander saliva only allows it to coagulate further." Rosewood swaggered forward so she could see him better. "You're quite at my mercy."

Hermione tried to keep a tight leash on her panic, but she'd always been a little claustrophobic, and the desire to get free grew until it turned into desperation. Rosewood sensed this, his duplicitous grin growing. She didn't understand how she hadn't seen through it before.

"What do you want with me?"

He kneeled, so she was close enough to see his crooked bottom row of teeth. He was handsome in an odd way with a flush to his cheeks and stark black hair, but his nose set off-center and hooked downward. His chin pointed, setting off a long and lean face.

"Ah, Hermione." He stroked her cheek. She flinched away, making her constraints tighter. "It's a stroke of luck you survived. The years of toil and sacrifice could have ended in disaster. But fate is kind… because it wasn't long after Romania, I discovered it was you all along."

"If fate was kind, you'd be dead."

He brushed a hand down her curls as if she was a dog, unbothered by her hate.

"I took the position of professor when my sources indicated the key was tucked away in Hogwarts. Despite your power, I dismissed you based on your heritage, though you intrigued me greatly. Draco was a more likely candidate. It's almost ironic it turned out to be_ you_. Hidden in plain sight."

"Help!" She screamed out as loud as possible. She might be in a losing fight, but she would never walk to her grave quietly.

"No one can hear you, sweets. And when you awaken, no one will hear you then either."

He placed his wand to her forehead, and she spit on his hand. It was the only thing she could think of doing. A pathetic last resort. No matter what, she couldn't let him continue.

"You're a feral little thing." He grimaced and wiped the spit on his robe. "But I'll break that from you in time. By the end, you'll be as compliant as a puppy."

His wand went back to her temple. She fought the constraints with all her might, turning her head to snap her teeth—her only available weapon.

It accomplished nothing.

"Goodnight, Hermione." He cast a blue spell at her head.

Her eyesight narrowed into points, and despite her struggle, the darkness won.

**Draco**

Draco walked along the little path to the whomping willow. Granger showed him several months ago how to still the violent tree with a simple touch, and the dusty room became his favorite spot to fuck Granger. Despite the moth-worn furniture and the dilapidated walls, they could be as loud as they wanted without a spell to conceal them. It felt like their own hideaway. In there, he could almost pretend the whole world only consisted of them.

If it was up to him, they _would_ continue this forever. He wasn't ready to give up Granger just yet. The trick was to convince her. She was too moral, too righteous, in her thinking to keep a secret tryst. It would take delicate handling.

Halfway to the tree, he heard the scream.

He knew it was Granger, knew it instantly by the tremor of fear that travelled down the golden link and into his soul. His body snapped upright, and his wand jumped to his hand without conscious thought.

He raced forward, uncaring if the bushes snagged him, uncaring if he stumbled. He ran in a blind panic until he reached the clearing to find Rosewood gathering an unconscious Hermione into his arms. Some sort of sticky substance coated most of her lower body.

"Avada—" He muttered.

But a bright red spell slammed into Rosewood before he could finish.

His old professor hurtled backward, his body slamming into the ground, clutching at his throat. Within seconds, Rosewood pointed his wand to his mouth and reversed the curse.

A Death Eater stepped out to his right with a heavy metal mask etched in swirling ancient runes. Draco flinched backward, recognizing the mask instantly.

"Why are _you _here?"

Draco raised his wand, unsure who he should defend himself against, when the Death Eater turned to him with a growl in his throat.

"Help Hermione!" The Death Eater chucked another spell at Rosewood. It glanced off a newly erected blue shield.

Whatever he may think Rosewood, there was no debate he deserved his position as Defense against the dark arts instructor. The fight would be vicious.

Kill the bastard or save his witch—it was the only choice given.

It was an easy decision, in the end. The fight could wait for another day. He rushed toward an abandoned Hermione, keeling beside her. Mud splatted up his robes, but for the first time in his life, he didn't care. He cradled Hermione's head in his hands and brought her lips to his ear. She still breathed, but shallow as if asleep.

A simple curse.

For a moment he thought she had—

"Finite Incantatem." Draco breathed a sigh of relief when Hermione gasped a breath and opened her eyes, wild and searching.

The battle raged just at the edge of his vision. The Death Eater flung dangerous spells at Rosewood…illegal ones. Ones that would send him straight to Azkaban, even if used in defense.

But Rosewood was no easy target. Despite the Death Eater's experience and power, he was losing. He fought hunched over as if wounded, and each spell came slower and with more effort.

Granger needed to be awake and free of the substance if they had a chance of winning against someone like Rosewood, but she was disoriented.

"Granger, I have to get rid of this stuff on you." Draco gave her head a little tug towards him to focus her. Each frantic breath of hers caused the slime to restrict more somehow. "But I don't know how."

Granger's eyes went down to her body encased in the pearlescent slime, and her eyes lit on fire, as if remembering every important thing.

"The slime of six-legged salamander… It tightens with movement like those finger traps from the carnivals… oh, never mind. It just needs water!"

Such a simple cure. It must have tortured Granger to know the answer with no way to solve the problem.

"Aguamenti," he said.

The goo slicked off her into a giant puddle, adding to the already muddy ground.

"That's my clever girl," Draco said. "Now we can kill the bastard."

Hermione stood up on shaky legs, clothes sticking to her body like a second skin, wand still in her hand. Her eyes turned downward, her free hand up and ready to twist.

Rosewood glanced in their direction and his mouth gaped open in surprise, eyes wide with fear. But just as Granger almost twisted her hand, foul curses on her lips, a Centaur—Bane—stepped out of the woods with his wand aimed straight for Hermione's heart.

The clearing froze. Bane's bow creaked tighter as the Death Eater clutched his stomach with his free hand, wand dangling loosely in the direction of Rosewood. Hermione held her hand in the air, eyes dropped down in a stare edged with death.

Draco stood useless beside Granger, unsure what to do, afraid any sudden movement would set off a violent chain of events. All the chess pieces trembled with impatience, weapons ready for the next move.

"Why are you saving him?" Hermione hissed at Bane.

"Your movements set fires, little human." Bane straightened and his tail flicked. "The blaze would head the wrong direction."

"Let me kill him," Granger almost begged. He'd never heard her voice so low and rough, almost a tiger's growl.

"It's not his time," The Centaur answered.

Rosewood straightened, eyes on both Granger and Bane. The slimy worm wasn't one to question good luck. No doubt he understood he just barely escaped certain death. Even with the Death Eater swaying on his feet, it was three against one_. With one being Hermione Granger._ She could pull his intestines through his mouth if she wanted, and he doubted even Rosewood's skill could stop it.

Granger groaned. She looked pained as Rosewood pocketed his wand, a mocking smirk painting his mouth.

"It's a pleasure seeing you again, Ms. Granger." He gave a bow. "I'll make sure it happens again in the future."

Hermione's eyes darkened as they dipped down in anger, and she twisted her hand, despite Bane's threat. Rosewood lifted in the air with his toes scraping the ground. The skin around his mouth turned a greyish blue. His eyes bulged outward.

"Let him go, witch." Bane snapped a hoof on the ground, flicking up specks of mud. "Or I'll show you why even your dark wizard was afraid of centaurs' arrows."

Draco touched Hermione's shoulder. With the reminder, Hermione heaved a sigh and reluctantly released Rosewood. He collapsed to the ground, gasping in choking breaths and tearing at his throat as if to make holes for oxygen.

Hermione spit on the ground in his direction.

"Believe my words as they if they came from the mouth of seer." She pointed a finger in his direction, punctuating every word. "If I ever see you again, I'll set your nervous system on fire. I'll make you believe mice are in your brain until you are rocking in a corner. And then I'll sever your eyes from your skull and leave you to your darkness."

Draco shivered at her promise, wondering if the Gryffindor queen, champion of light and bravery, could ever torture someone and then leave them to their misery. Looking at the power leaking from her now, electrifying her hair, whipping the air into a slight wind, he believed her every word.

Rosewood seemed to as well. He gathered himself, face stripped of bravado and pretend. His features twisted with his true nature, eyes sparking with an odd malice. He pulled his lips into a snarl as if an animal.

"I was planning to treat you like a queen." His lip curled even further. "But now, when you're finally under my thumb, I'll make sure to press down just to see you squirm in pain. You'll be nothing but a base beast, and I'll make you do terrible things your soul won't recover from."

Hermione trembled, and Draco shook with the need for retribution, ready to finally kill someone.

But he had so many questions and not enough answers.

_Why would Rosewood want Hermione? _

He learned long ago it was better to act when you had all the cards in front of you. A blind run of courage only worked out for people like Potter, and even then, the luck eventually vanished for them as well.

Rosewood would die. Someday and in a painful way. He'd make sure of that. But the Centaur was right, it wouldn't be today. Not if the stars warned against it, and not with the arrow pointed in their direction.

So they could do nothing but shift in the mud, shaking in fury, as Rosewood pulled out the same chocolate frog portkey as last time, an almost mocking gesture, and vanished with a pop as he stared at Hermione with hate.

The rest of them stood in the wake of terror he left. With the pop of the portkey, the Death Eater crumpled to the ground, clutching his stomach. Once seated, his hand came up, covered in bright red blood.

"Fuck," he whispered, but no one payed him any attention.

Hermione leveled her wand at the Centaur, her whole arm shaking. With rage? With latent fear? Draco wished to read her mind.

"Why couldn't you just let me kill him?" Hermione had the same strange gravelly voice, as if made of jagged stone. "How is that maggot's life worth so much?"

Bane lowered his weapon. His black coat gleamed in the sunlight. Draco had never seen one so close in the daytime. The light picked up the details of the smooth transition from man to beast. It fascinated and repulsed him at the same time.

The centaur stood in front of Hermione's wand without fear, without a defense to protect him. He sneered down his sharp nose, angular features pulling into a sneer that could rival Draco's. He clearly hated humans.

"You have decisions to make soon." The words pierced the air like his arrows. "And they will affect the world, affect all creatures in wizarding world, great and small." He gave a brief glance to Draco, and his features pulled back into one of contemplation. "Both of you do... be careful lest you take the wrong path and find my arrow through your heart."

He gave a brief nod in Granger's direction and completely ignored Draco as if he was moldy slime growing under a log. Then he twisted and disappeared back into the forest as fast as he arrived, leaving only the leaves to shiver.

After the Centaur left, Hermione gave Draco a lost look. Later he'd peel away the layers whether she wanted to or not, strip the fear from her soul. The Centaur wouldn't harm her. Rosewood wouldn't harm her. His own fucking father wouldn't harm her. Not if he had anything to say about it. What happened today would never happen again. He'd promise it in his own blood if he had to.

But there were other concerns at the moment… a third wild card in this debacle.

Their eyes broke from each other and searched the ground to find it empty. The injured Death Eater had used their conversation with Bane as time to escape.

"Where did he go?" Hermione asked.

Draco walked to the spot where the Death Eater had lain. He leaned down on the back of his heels and reached out to touch a blade of grass, pulling back a droplet of blood.

"He's injured," she said, and even without looking at her face he noted the touch of concern in her voice. "He tried… he protected me."

There was no time for questions before, but now there was.

If it was just the mask, he might have second guessed, but Draco recognized the tattoo on his forearm. The jagged scars on the man's face as his mask twisted to the side. A fraction of a second, but he recognized it.

Draco had always been a jealous creature. He'd come to terms with it long before. It didn't bother him usually because he rarely had to deal with the emotion in the first place. Potter made it flare, but other than the _Chosen One_, he was smarter, wealthier, and better looking than nearly everyone. What did he have to be jealous over, especially when it came to women?

But Granger? Just the thought of her with another man made every drop of magic in his body sizzle with hatred.

He rubbed the blood between his fingers, watched it smear into his skin as he contemplated. His body vibrated with an ugly, greedy feeling as he tilted his head to view his witch. She still looked at the spot on the ground in concern.

"Why the fuck was Marcus Flint here?"


	25. Lock and Key

**Song Suggestion:** Dennis Lloyd— "Snow White"

There are three worries a few of you have expressed:

Flint:

He will _not_ be a love interest. And he's not random. He's very important to the story. Some of you have already partially guessed.

Too many villains:

One is a villain. The rest are grey characters. That is all I'm going to say without giving up the plot.

HEA:

I have two endings written. One is HEA. One is semi-HEA. I haven't decided which one fits better yet.

.

**Lock and Key **

**Draco **

"Why the fuck was Marcus Flint here?"

Hermione's eyes widened.

"Who?"

"Flint," he spat with vitriol he hadn't displayed for a long time. "That gaudy dragon tattoo gave him away. I'm going to ask you again, and I demand an answer, why was that snaggle-toothed wizard dressed as a Death Eater and fighting Rosewood?"

"I—I'm not sure." She looked shaken. "But I intend to find out."

Hermione turned without any extra explanation, still dripping wet with water and remnants of slime, and began to walk up the trail, this time towards the castle instead of the whomping willow. He followed behind her, anger growing with each step she refused to answer, because she hid something from him. Something secret and important. Her parents he understood… but Marcus Flint?

He rifled through his memories, snagging on the time in Romania. Flint had held Granger during Nott's ceremony. He had made note of it at the time because of the manner of her escape.

_Flint let Granger go_.

It didn't make any sense, but there was no other conclusion. The only question left was why. Flint was the worst of the purebloods growing up, even for his taste. He joined the death eaters straight away after Hogwarts, joining his monstrous father in killing muggles without hesitation. The Dark Lord even commended Flint on his vicious cruelty, saying the younger generation could learn lessons from him.

After the Final Battle, Flint escaped unscathed, falling into the strange crack of wizards that did terrible things but didn't have enough evidence or weren't high enough in the ranks for a trial, much like Umbridge. Since then, Draco lost track of him and didn't care to seek him out. Rumor has it he shut himself up in his old, rotting mansion like a weird hermit.

What did someone like Flint want with Granger? Were they seeing each other behind his back?

Flint said _Hermione_. Not Granger. Not Mudblood. _Hermione_. In a familiar, stomach-churning way.

Something cold went through him.

Granger wouldn't answer him. Not with the single-minded determination she displayed as she walked back to the castle. In this mood, she filtered out all the world, trapped in her brain, solving some puzzle he wasn't privy to.

Rage simmered inside him as they walked through the hallways. No one was in the Gryffindor common room to wonder why Draco Malfoy stalked behind Hermione Granger like a shadow up towards the dorm.

When they entered her dorm, she walked over to her desk. He shut the door and leaned against it, tucking his hands into his pockets, studying her.

He'd been in her room since that fatal kiss. Not many times, but enough to recognize the details. Hermione was a creature of comfort. The decorations were sparse but meaningful: a plush chair next to the leaded window, a small desk, a shelf of books, flickering candles, fluffy blankets, photographs of friends, and a few strange muggle items.

Hermione rifled around in her desk and then paused.

"What are you thinking?" He asked.

"If I can trust you."

The words stabbed, even if he wasn't sure if he deserved her trust or not. He pressed his lips into a thin line and then sent a cleaning and drying spell toward her, erasing the signs of previous trauma.

She didn't react to the spells, just looked at him a long time before nodding, answering her own question.

Her hands went into the desk drawer and came out with a thick book. He recognized it immediately as a grimoire—an ancient one. Maybe even older than the Malfoy one locked in his father's study, or the Black one tucked away in a Gringott's vault.

He walked closer to view the cover. A golden dragon slithered along the edges. He placed a finger to the dark leather, crinkled from years of hard use, and the dragon attempted to bite his finger.

"Where did you get this?" He whispered in reverence.

He'd rarely seen a real one in person. His father taught him the spells from an early age—their strength and their consequences. But Draco never dared touch the real thing. They were dangerous to mess with. A wizard without sufficient power in their veins could succumb to the blood magic. Because of this, and their rarity, pureblood families kept them under lock and key.

"It was slipped into my book bag at the beginning of term…likely at Kings cross station."

Draco's eyebrows shot skyward.

"And this is where you encountered the Anima Vinculum spell?"

At least, that was one mystery solved.

She gave a sharp nod of her head.

"Foolish, witch." He stepped away from the book. "The consequences of casting wrong could have been dire. With your blood status, you never read passed the first sentence without it scrambling the text. You—"

"I know," she said. "It was irresponsible. Just… confirm it for me. I need to know. You've been tutored on all the families since birth. Is this the Flint grimoire?"

Draco shook his head, eyes back on the golden dragon. He understood now why Granger showed it to him. His knowledge of pureblood families was vast.

"That's the same dragon tattoo on his arm, but that's not the Flint's." His eyes narrowed. "It's not any of the sacred twenty-eights either."

"So it's foreign?"

"Most likely," he hesitated. "Though… I know most Pureblood families in the world, and I've never seen one like _that_."

"So what does that mean?"

The dragon on the cover stared back at him, as if sentient, as if measuring if he was worthy. The book looked ancient, at least several thousand years old. Older than Hogwarts. Older than England itself. The markings around the edges were old druid runes, dating maybe as far back as the Roman era.

Maybe older still.

Draco wasn't sure if he'd seen anything like it before. Most of the great wizarding texts had been destroyed by Solomon the Barbarian in the sixth century. Very few escaped the inferno.

"It means it's most likely from an extinct family. There are several bloodlines that have been eclipsed across the ages."

Draco walked over to it. He opened the top drawer and placed the grimoire inside it. The Dragon gave a silent roar just as he shut it. After, Draco cast a stronger ward than the one Granger used. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and spat on the drawer, using blood magic. It glowed blue before dissipating.

"Don't show that to _anyone _else." He pointed at the desk. "Is this what Rosewood's after? Is this why he tracked you down?"

He had been in survival mode, so he didn't notice the oddity of it until now. Why was Rosewood attempting to capture Granger? Was it to lure and bribe him? Or was it something more sinister? The book itself was enough motivation. One this old—linked to an extinct pureblood family—would be beyond priceless. The only other one he knew of belonged to the French ministry.

"I'm not sure how he'd know I even had it. No…" Her eyebrows crinkled together. "No, I think… well, I think he just wanted _me_."

"That doesn't make any sense."

He had a sixth sense that he held all the keys. But none of them fit any of the locks. It swirled in his head, until his heart pounded, and he felt like blasting something.

Each time it came back to the same thing.

_Save Hermione. _

Hermione.

As if Flint cared and knew her.

He walked across the room and grabbed Granger by the shoulders. Her eyes widened at his sudden movement. He brought her close, nose to nose, so he could see the minute reactions. So he could see if she lied to him.

"Are you fucking Marcus Flint?"

It might be an unfair. She gave a little gasp, sounding outraged. But he still had to know. His bones felt heavy waiting for her answer.

Her shoulders gave a shrug, causing him to lose his grip, and then her hand flew in the air and smacked across his mouth, hitting him as hard as third year. His jaw throbbed, and he resisted the desire to cradle it.

"How dare you ask me that," Hermione growled back, eyes leveling at him like a dragon, one second from erupting into fire. "How dare you! After everything, you have the audacity to question whether I've been with someone else?"

He finally rubbed at his jaw, letting the silence after linger. Then he lunged, pushing her into the wall and slamming their lips together. Showing her exactly how much he loathed and wanted her for everything she put him through. The day's events shifted something inside him. He couldn't put a name to it, but he understood nothing would be the same again.

She hit at his shoulders making him stumble back. They stood there trembling and panting, staring at each other. The link between them zinged with energy, lust and anger and pain. How could he explain how it felt to stumble into the clearing?

"I thought you were dead," Draco voice caught in his throat. "I thought…" He couldn't finish.

Hermione made a little noise in her throat, like a sigh, and then she lunged at him.

Their movements were frantic, stripping their clothes off with a fury, pushing away any boundary, uncaring of nakedness. He'd memorized her body long ago, every freckle and scar, traced the story they made across her skin. They didn't even bother lying back down, the sudden need for closeness so intense. When his cock found its home deep inside Granger, she made the same little noise in the back of her throat that made everything inside him fracture. Her nails made marks on his back, as his hands threaded through her hair, tugging backward so her throat was exposed to his lips, dragging his teeth gently across the tiny ridges, letting his lips rest on the soft spot under her ear that made her clench around him.

It wasn't enough. He needed more. Much more than heat or pleasure could give.

"Say you're mine," he said.

He hadn't asked her this since the first time they'd had sex, months ago. At the time, he wanted to own a part of her. Today he _needed_ to hear it, a need as strong and real as thirst and hunger. He wanted to bury himself inside her, carve their souls together.

He didn't know how to ask what he wanted. The words weren't in his vocabulary.

He lifted away from the wall, and her legs tightened on his hips as he walked over to the bed and laid her down on the crimson coverlet. Her hair fanned out in a wild halo, and her breasts were in the perfect position to place in his mouth. His pace slowed, letting his thumbs brush over her hipbones with each thrust. He felt every inch of her, scorching across his skin.

"Say you're mine." It sounded like a plea, almost desperation. He hated the way it sliced a knife across his chest to expose his insides.

His hand went up and clasped on her throat. She hummed in pleasure and turned her head down just enough to give a gentle kiss on the skin of his wrist.

"I'm yours," she whispered in a raw voice, as if she just used it to scream.

It was supposed to be abhorrent, this relationship with Granger. It was against nature, against the natural order of things.

But with two words, his soul burst. He'd never fucked her like this, in a quiet agony, the only relief the strokes of heat and warmth and Granger's quiet moans until they shattered around each other.

In the aftermath, they lay breathless. He lazily tasted the skin of her throat and breasts as she traced patterns into the heated skin of his shoulders.

Finally, he whispered into hair.

"Promise you won't leave me."

Her arms wrapped around his upper body as if to pull him back into her.

But she paused, understanding what he asked. Graduation was upon them. Despite Rosewood, despite the other mysteries surrounding them, they also had real life to contend with.

The storm was coming.

Did she want to stand in the rain for him?

"I won't leave you," she said.

"Don't lie to me," he warned. "Don't you dare fucking lie to me."

"I'm not lying."

He did not want to look at her, to see if she looked away or flinched. He wanted to believe her.

"You're going to need to be brave. It will not be easy. There might be sacrifice along the way."

He hoped she understood what he asked her. A pureblood would, but he wondered if she understood the layers to his statement. Her chest went up and down, up and down. He watched her breath, watched it hitch with his words.

"Of course I'm brave, I'm a Gryffindor."

"That's what I'm afraid of. Gryffindors see everything in black and white. They don't know how to bend."

She gave a little snort of laughter.

"I think I've proven multiple times I can bend quite well."

He smirked against the skin of her throat, liking the sound her laughter made in her chest, feeling completely relaxed and somehow whole for the first time in a long time.

"I'm serious, Granger."

He raised himself just enough, so that his weight was caught by his elbows. She wore a soft smile, an expression he wasn't sure if he'd ever seen before. He wished to capture it in a painting. It was more intimate than a kiss, almost causing him to look away from the sincerity.

"You idiot." She cupped his cheek with her palm. "Don't you see I've fallen for you?"

She said it in such a matter-of-fact-Gryffindor-feeling way, unafraid of the consequences. As casually as if he was Ronald Weasley. It was completely idiotic thing to do. Didn't she have any self-preservation?

But shivers danced up his spine. He gave a small laugh and leaned down and kissed her, not knowing what to do with this sudden spike of happiness inside him. It filled every crevice of his soul, wanting to surge through the walls he set up.

Hermione playfully grabbed his hair and they once again were lost in each other.

Much later, as he watched her sleep, curled into her crimson covers, the happiness turned to a sharp dread, knowing they couldn't stay in their little bubble much longer.


End file.
